


Hendrik and Beatrice

by TenebraeSehnsucht



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Dundrasil, Epic Battles, Hero | Luminary is Named Eleven | El (Dragon Quest XI), Jade is sick to death of being hypersexualized, Monster characters, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Royal Library, Sniflheim, That asshole bad guy you can't wait to see killed, That bored evil bad guy who's a foil for the asshole, The spectral sentinels that weren't, calasmos, epic story, romantic sex, the story continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 56
Words: 150,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenebraeSehnsucht/pseuds/TenebraeSehnsucht
Summary: Following the fall of Calasmos, Queen Frysabel has called in Erdrea's premier scholar, Beatrice of Dundrasil, to completely catalog and organize the Royal Library. What should be a simple scholarly task becomes a dark and tangled mystery as evil forces are seeking a set of powerful books rumored to be in the library: books whose sole purpose is to reincarnate Calasmos; books which supposedly can only be deciphered and 'unlocked' by Beatrice herself. Ever the faithful defender against the darkness, Sir Hendrik finds himself drawn into the drama even as he finds himself drawn to the woman at its center.An epic tale in three parts, Hendrik and Beatrice combines the whole cast of DQXI with a host of interesting original characters in a fantastic adventure full of action, romance, and humor. Plus really dark shit. And Veronica swears. A fuck of a lot.
Relationships: Camus | Erik & Hero | Luminary, Graig | Hendrik (Dragon Quest XI)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

**The Dark Books**

_The Dark Books: Day 1 _

Beatrice

Beatrice of Dundrasil pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ach, I hope they finish laying in that new flooring soon. I cannae concentrate worth a damn.” She brushed a gloved hand gently across the ancient leaf of parchment in the book before her.

Lars laughed, a high, sweet sound she’d only begun to hear in the last few days. “Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to start cataloging the books before the repairs were done.”

Beatrice turned and shot him a mock scowl. “Now you listen, young man. You shouldnae question the decisions of your elders, however stupid they might be!” The scowl disintegrated into a smile. “Ach, of course you’re right. Only thirteen and you’re a damn sight smarter than your teacher.”

“Oh, no, Beatrice!” The old, serious Lars emerged from under the new one. “I know you can’t keep yourself from these books. There could be a battle raging in the front hall and you’d never hear it.”

That brought a hearty laugh from the scholar. “True words, Lad.” She shook her head, her thick, red-brown curls swaying around her face. “I’ve known you six months and you’ve already learned my greatest secret.” She ruffled the boy’s white-blond hair.

“Ha. It’s no secret to anyone,” he laughed.

Beatrice froze. “Listen. Do you hear that?”

Lars cocked his head. “I don’t hear anything,” he said with a frown.

“Exactly!” A smile broke wide on Beatrice’s face. “They’ve done with the floor! Now back to the work at hand.” She swept her eyes around the large, circular room in which they stood, lighting them on a pile of books on the edge of the long, dark work table they had moved in. “Those four books are part of a set, but from what I’ve seen and felt going through them, there are at least two books missing. Can you go back to your section and find them?”

“I can find anything!” Lars said, his newfound confidence beaming.

“Of course you can, Lad. I wish _I_ could find the person who organized this library in the first place so I can throttle him!” She held her hands out and choked an imaginary librarian. “There’s hardly a rhyme or reason to any of these books’ placement!”

Lars re-examined the four volumes he’d brought up from the section he was working in. “Can I take one with me just to make sure they’re the same set?”

Beatrice nodded, smiling. She could see the boy’s pale blue eyes sparkle as his gloved hand made contact with the ancient leather cover. She knew she was looking at her successor, this impoverished orphan she’d found sleeping in the Royal Library when she’d come to reclaim it. It was as though the books themselves had nurtured him in his isolation. Hugging the tome to his narrow chest, he turned and near skipped from the room, obviously happy to have a mission.

The Drasilian scholar stepped closer to the roaring fire in the hearth and rubbed her gloved hands together, then brought her attention back to the book lying open on the table. “Husbandry,” she murmured, gingerly turning a page. She dipped a quill into a shallow bowl of ink and added a note to the parchment on her right. There she had so far listed the title. It was the only identifying information of any sort the book held. These ancient, and even more recent texts seldom claimed authorship. But she loved the mystery of uncovering the knowledge they held, as if somehow she herself were connected to the writer. She could sense the hand holding the quill, almost hear the sound of the dictation, and feel the emotions of the source of the words, if there were any. Other people thought she was crazy, of course, except that she had surpassed every scholar with whom she had ever studied. And her knowledge of the written word was unmatched in all of Erdrea. She cared little for what others thought. Books were her love and her lifeblood.

Lars

Lars tripped lightly down the stairs and through the maze-like passages of the library. Though most of building was open to the center, thousands of books on hundreds of shelves facing inward toward you wherever you stood, a series of sliding walls controlled by switches caused different parts of the library to be inaccessible at different times. Beatrice had complained about this bizarre setup almost as vociferously as she did about the lack of decipherable organization of the books. Lars loved it. It gave the whole place an air of mystery. Especially when the round “Special Collection” at the top center closed off, becoming a private sanctuary, almost sound proof. He and Beatrice had nicknamed it “the inner sanctum.”

He held his hand up to a glowing crystal in a corner of one alcove, and felt the vibrations in the floor as several walls almost silently rotated, opening some doorways and closing off others. Of course, the walls would immediately halt if someone were in the path of them, another brilliant feat of magical engineering that protected library patrons from being suddenly squished in transit. But this time, no such obstruction occurred.

As he slipped through a newly open doorway and down another flight of stairs, Lars reflected on the joy his life had become. He could hardly believe the miracle that had brought Beatrice into his life. After the Dark One’s monsters had killed his family right in front of him, he had holed up in the Royal Library outside Sniflheim and waited to die. But his Yggdrasil-given drive to survive kept him making forays into the Snærfelt to hunt for food, turning rabbit pelts into warm blankets, and even heating water for the occasional bath. Still, while his heart continued to beat, he could hardly have called it a life. Though surrounded by centuries of knowledge, he had little desire to read, never mind the fact that his skills were not sufficient to decipher some of the complex texts held in these leather bindings.

But then the Dark One fell, and Beatrice burst into his life. There was no other word for it. Almost six feet tall, with wild hair and a broad smile, she had a light that seemed to radiate from her very being. And yet her passion for life was a pale shadow compared to her passion for books. He had heard Snorri and some of the volunteers talk about how odd she was. How bookish people were supposed to be quiet and shy, frail and retiring. Could such a thing be true? It didn’t matter to Lars. All he knew was that when she found him squatting in the hallway on the second level, she had not turned him out into the cold. She had reached out to him with compassion, and upon hearing the story of what the Dark One had stolen from him, she had taken him under her wing, vowing to help him heal. What random stranger does that for another person? In all of his 13 years, Lars had never known anyone like Beatrice.

From above, she called out, “I need to get across. Can someone activate whatever switch moves the damn bridge?” Her irritation bounced off the marble floors. Lars hit the reset switch in the north alcove, and the half span on the third level rotated back to the doorway of the inner sanctum. Beatrice walked out onto it, called down, “Thank you!” and crossed to the outer walkway. Lars grinned as he slipped into an adjacent dead-end hallway and began poring over the shelves in search of the books that would be a match for the one in his hand.

Lars

An hour later, the boy near sprinted to the southeast stairwell, now carrying three matching volumes, certain from his brief perusal that they were the last in the set. He dodged past several other library volunteers and construction workers, apologizing over his shoulder when he knocked a hammer from someone’s hand. As he slipped through the doorway onto the second level, there came a crash and a scream from somewhere below him. He froze. Had there been an accident? He craned his neck over the rail and peered down. Another crash, followed by the sound of steel hitting against stone. The cries of men and women echoed up through the open center of the building. What was happening? On every level, people stopped and stared down, fear on their faces.

“We’re under attack!” someone shouted. At that moment, four hunter mechs tramped into the building, each with four metal feet clanging on the floor and a single, pale pink eye locking onto anything that moved. Two ran toward a cluster of volunteers while the others aimed their crossbows upwards. People scattered, screaming. Lars couldn’t move.

A small riding dragon--a dragooner's mount--lumbered in next, followed by a pale green professaurus, a dragon in human dress. The riding dragon picked up the flightless professaurus in its muscular arms and flew up to the third level, dropping its cargo not five yards from the inner sanctum. Beatrice! Did she even know what was happening?

Bridges and stairs rotated as someone on the top floor hit the central switch, likely trying to find the fastest way down. The action put the second floor span almost right in front of him. As he pelted towards it Lars caught sight of a pair of otter shambles emerging from the stairwell behind him. He ducked onto the bridge and bounded up the steps two at a time, the monsters wandering after him at a leisurely pace, their fanged grins unnerving.

A knot of volunteers came running down toward Lars, then stopped, forcing him to shove his way through them. “We can’t go down this way!” one of them shouted, pointing to the otter shambles now standing at the far end of the bridge below. “Quick, back up to the northeast stairwell!”

At the top of the steps, Lars banked north toward the third floor switch. One of the volunteers behind him screamed and he looked back and plowed straight into the professaurus’ chest, the books flying from his hands.

“What have we here?” the dragon hissed, clamping leathery fingers around the boy’s wrist. Lars’ heart quailed within him.

A volunteer cried, “The stairwell is blocked and so is the switch!”

“The otter shambles! They’re coming for us!” shouted another.

Then from behind him, he heard Beatrice’s strident alto. “Head south around the walkway!” she shouted to the hysterical workers. “I’ll activate the switch to open the door.”

Lars squirmed in the dragon’s grasp to see Beatrice running along the walkway toward him, pulling her knife from her belt. She skidded to a halt five feet from the towering green dragon, now holding Lars above the ground, its rough fingers digging painfully into the boy’s wrist. Lars kicked his dangling feet, desperately trying to land a blow on his captor. The professaurus let loose a rasping laugh.

Behind Beatrice, the volunteers began crying out. “They’re on the stairs!”

“Put him down,” the scholar demanded.

“Shall I drop him over the rail?” the dragon hissed, moving toward the central chamber. Lars’ stomach clenched, but he forced himself to think of the others.

“Forget me!” he shouted. “Get to the switch before it’s too late!”

In a single, fluid motion, Beatrice crossed the distance between them, and slashed upward, opening a deep gash along the dragon’s wrist. A spray of indigo blood covered Lars’ hand and arm.

A guttural scream burst from the reptile and Lars dropped to the ground, stumbling off his feet and landing on his shoulder with a thud. Pain shot through his arm and up into his neck.

“Get up,” cried Beatrice. “Go with the others!”

“But what about you?”

“Go, Lad! Get everyone out!” she near screamed, ducking under the professaurus’ arm and dashing for the switch.

Lars’ brain clicked into obedience, and against his wish, he followed his mentor’s instruction, finding his feet and bolting for the space between shelves that would soon be an open doorway.

The otter shambles were a mere half a dozen steps from the third floor when the marble slid around the library and granted access to the stairwell. Lars tumbled through with the others and took charge, leading the frightened volunteers down the stairs to the second floor and bidding them run toward the southeast stairwell while he triggered the next switch. When the door opened, he sprinted after the others to find them stopped by the exit to the bottom floor. He peered out. The hunter mechs had rounded up half a dozen prisoners and stood idly, as if waiting for some kind of instruction. Lars bid his companions be silent and led them by stealth along the wall, ducking behind free standing shelves and statuary until they reached the opening to the dead end hall adjacent to the north alcove. He jogged to the hidden rear exit behind a section of shelves. “Go!” he hissed. “Climb down the cliff and head to the cabin in the Hekswood. Hide there. I’m going back for the others.”

He pushed at the door, sending a throbbing pain through his shoulder, and cursed under his breath. There was no time for injury! As the door opened, a gust of frigid air blew into the room. “Run!” he whispered, and when they had all cleared the portal, he pulled the door to. He turned and tracked as lightly as he could back to the north alcove, then returned the way he’d come along the inner wall, pausing behind every column, every piece of clutter. He froze at the crash of hunter mech feet on the floor—three of them were heading toward the back hall. They must have noticed the sudden blast of cold air. With any luck, they would be distracted by their investigation allowing him to rescue the others. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, he continued his stealthy circuit.

Sure enough, when he reached the far side of the room, he found the huddled group of volunteers guarded by only a single monster, and it was following its companions across the room with its eye.

Lars signaled to the nearest woman, who had the presence of mind not to make a sound. She tapped the others until all eyes were on the boy. He motioned to the back door, pointing to a circuitous route back along the alcoves in the direction he’d come. “Now!” he mouthed, and the group slunk away from their distracted guard, slipping in and out of corners, ducking behind free-standing statues and clutter. They paused in the east alcove and waited for the investigating hunter mech to reappear from the back hall.

Metallic footsteps heralded their return to the main room, and Lars slid a book from the nearest shelf. He apologized to it in his mind before handing it to the strongest-looking man in the group. He pointed toward the front entrance and mimed throwing the book as hard as he could. The man nodded, drew the volume back and hurled it across the room. It landed with a resounding slap on the marble floor. The hunter mechs’ heads swiveled as one and all four thumped across the ground, sixteen metal feet clanging loudly enough to provide all the sound cover the workers could hope for. They ran for the back hall, pushed open the secret door and barreled into the snow.

No monsters on the outside of the building seemed to have realized the existence of the rear exit as of yet, so Lars and the others had no problem reaching the cliff’s edge over the Snærfelt path. A few spruces gave them ample cover as they dropped one by one into the deep drifts at the bottom. Everyone clambered out and Lars sent them off in the direction of the Hekswood while he doubled back along the path toward the front of the library.

He hugged the wall of the cliff under the land bridge that connected the rocky shelf on which the library stood to the open field that marked the way back to Sniflheim. Overhead, he could see a mass of monsters milling about on the arch, and prayed they would not look down as he slunk by. On the far side, around a curve that hid him from view, he clambered up the rock face to the field and darted behind a wide evergreen. He peered back through the densely needled branches and stifled a gasp.

The situation was far worse than the few monsters indoors would have indicated. An army of evil creatures clustered on the field, on the bridge, and around the front door. The emergency of rescuing the volunteers over, his thoughts returned to Beatrice. How could he possibly hope to help her? What if she were no longer even alive? No! He would not entertain such a thought! Surely she had made it back into the inner sanctum and would remain safe until help could be brought. He skirted the clearing, slinking behind trees, and turned his feet toward the palace. Then he ran.

Beatrice

It was a race to the switch, but Beatrice was more nimble than the lumbering dragon scholar at her heels. She threw herself on the glowing crystal, turning to see Lars fling himself through the door after the others. The central stair from the second floor now opened right in front of her, and the two otter shambles stood a few steps from the top. Then there was the matter of the professaurus still bearing down on her with pain-fueled malice in its eyes.

The dragon cornered her in the alcove, brandishing its violet-topped staff, its tail lashing behind it. Dark purple-blue blood dripped from the gash in its wrist, staining its tunic. “You will pay for this,” it hissed, gesturing to the wound. It raised its staff to cast a spell.

Beatrice dropped to her knees, bringing her dagger down with all her strength into the dragon’s foot. It roared in pain and rage and she clambered back to her feet, ducking around the monster’s flank. The otter shambles had tramped off into the now-open stairwell to continue their half-hearted pursuit of the volunteers. She couldn’t go that way now! Her only option was to try to make the inner sanctum and seal herself away until help came.

She launched into a sprint, but the professaurus’ reflexes were faster than she’d expected, and a massive hand seized her ankle, sending her sprawling onto the floor, her dagger flying from her hand and skittering across the marble.

The dragon lifted her in the air and dangled her above the ground. She twisted in his grasp, reaching out a hand and stabbing into the wound on his foot with her gloved fingers. Another howl of pain burst forth from the creature and it dropped her. She landed hard on her shoulder and rolled to her feet. With adrenaline-fueled speed, she dashed for the bridge, ducking to retrieve her dagger on the way.

Just on the other side of the span entrance, a riding dragon appeared, bearing a wrecktor up onto the third floor walkway. Panic ticking up, she banked onto the bridge and ran toward safety. The distance closed, and, out of breath, she crossed the threshold.

A sudden blow to the side of her head leveled her, and she crashed to her side, sliding across the marble floor and into the nearest shelf. Dizzy and feeling as though she should vomit, Beatrice dragged herself to her feet, rolling her body until her back was supported by the shelf. She brandished her dagger, willing her eyes to focus on her assailant.

Her vision cleared. Before her stood a man, a little taller than she, with strong arms, long, tangled dark blond hair woven with Viking braids, and a thick beard. He was dressed in a black doublet and leggings, and protected from the northern climate by a blood-red cloak, lined in black fur. A deadly blade hung at his side, and she braced herself for the moment he would draw it and end her life. But he did not. He simply stood there, a menacing sneer visible within the beard. His eyes were hard, cruel, and Beatrice was afraid.

“Who are you,” she demanded. “Why have you attacked us?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” he said, his voice a thin, slightly burred tenor. “I am looking for a set of books. You will tell me where they are.”

“There are thousands upon thousands of books in this place. And none in a proper order. I cannae promise I’ll have any idea what you’re looking for.”

He took a step closer. She would have shrunk away, but the shelves at her back did not allow it. Behind him, the professaurus and the wrecktor stepped into the room. Beatrice’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “I will describe them,” he said. “You must have found them by now. If your reputation is truth, these books would have been calling to you from the moment you set foot in this place.”

“Books of power?” Beatrice could not help the piquing of her curiosity.

“Oh yes,” he replied, a sinister glee under the words. “Such power as you cannot imagine.” He took another step, his eyes locking onto hers. “A dark power beyond comprehension.”

Reflexively, Beatrice raised her dagger. “Stay away from me. I willnae help you bring any more darkness into this world. Erdrea has only now been freed from its hold.”

Before she could react, the man closed the distance between them and seized her wrist in a painful grasp, twisting until she cried out and dropped the blade. “You will do whatever I ask of you,” he hissed, bringing his mouth to her ear. “Or you will suffer.”

He dragged her by her arm and spun, throwing her to the floor again. “Bind her,” he commanded the monsters with him.

The wrecktor set down his wicked, spiked maces and unhooked a length of rope from the belt of his robe. Beatrice tried to scramble away, but the professaurus reached out a massive hand and dragged her up by the back of her shirt, holding her fast while the wrecktor tied her wrists in front of her. The towering dragon then took the other end and looped it behind a wooden sphere the in the molding of a shelf edge, pulling her arms up over her head, so high she was drawn onto her toes to keep from dangling.

Having secured the prisoner, the man’s minions retired from the room, leaving Beatrice alone with her captor.

“The books I seek are bound in black leather, so dark as to capture the light.”

Beatrice laughed. “A full quarter of the books in this place are bound in black leather,” she said. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

Without the slightest pause, the man drove Beatrice’s own dagger deep into the flesh of her shoulder. She screamed in agony as the metal dug through muscle and sinew, and again as he withdrew the blade. Blood soaked into the fabric of her bodice above her chest.

“And _you_ will have to be a little more respectful,” he said. Then he smiled. “Though it would give me great pleasure to break you blow by blow, should you prefer to go that route.”

Tears of pain spilled down Beatrice’s cheeks as she labored to catch her breath, all the while gritting her teeth until the ache began to dull. She closed her eyes and prayed silently. He would not break her spirit, she vowed. And she would not aid him in his plans.

“Let us try this again,” he said. “We believe there are seven books in the set, each connected to the others in some inexplicable way. If we have heard correctly about you, had you come across even one, the other six would have begun to reveal themselves to you.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I havnae seen anything the like,” she said.

“You lie!” he shouted, slicing across her cheek with the blade.

She cried out again, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain as blood dripped down her chin and onto her shoulder. “It’s no lie,” she hissed through her clenched jaw. “You yourself said I would have known at once. Nothing like this has come into my hands.”

He placed the point of the dagger on the inside of her arm just above the elbow. “And you yourself said you would not help me bring darkness into the world. So I can only assume you are lying to me.” He pushed the tip of the blade just hard enough to break the skin, then drew it down toward her shoulder.

Another scream escaped her. She wanted to plead. To end this torment. No! He would not break her. He. Would. Not.


	2. Chapter 2

_ The Dark Books: Day 1 _

Jade

Queen Frysabel welcomed her guests with a beaming smile. She was so pleased to see them she dropped the formalities and stood, crossing the dais to greet the princess with a hug. “My dear Princess Jade!” she exclaimed, pushing her glasses back up on her nose as she extricated herself from her old friend. “And Sir Hendrik.” She held out her hands to the knight, and he knelt, taking them in his own.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his rich baritone filling the room, “you do me a great honor by your greeting.”

“Oh, stand up, Hendrik,” Jade groused, rolling her eyes. “Your formality can be so tiresome.”

Frysabel laughed. “Do not scold him, Jade,” she said. “It is his formality that makes him so lovable.”

Hendrik started, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Ahem,” he said, standing. “I cannot say anyone has ever described me thus.”

It was Jade’s turn to laugh. “You should check in with Sylvando, then. He hardly describes you any other way.” Shaking her head to dispel her mirth, she returned to the business at hand. “Your Majesty, we’ve come at the behest of my father, King Carnelian, and of Lord Robert of Dundrasil, to see how Sniflheim fares following the fall of the Dark One.”

The queen smiled again, lighting her perfect features into a vision of utter beauty. “You say ‘the fall of the Dark One’ as if you yourselves didn’t cause him to fall. All of Erdrea is deeply indebted to you.”

“Oh, now don’t start that, Frysabel. It was the Luminary whose power was ultimately responsible. We were simply there to aid him.” Jade brushed her long, black pony tail over her shoulder.

Frysabel blushed. “And how is His Highness?” she asked, almost timidly.

Jade inwardly shook her head. It seemed as though absolutely everyone had fallen in love with El over the past months. And despite all that she had seen him do, she still felt protective of him, the little brother she had never had. “His coronation is set for next autumn,” she said, “as soon as the reconstruction of the palace at Dundrasil is completed.” She paused for only a moment before adding, “And possibly his wedding soon after.” Best to let Frysabel know the truth before she developed dreams of a marriage alliance with Dundrasil.

“Oh?” Frysabel tried to hide her disappointment under the guise of curiosity. “I did not know he was planning to wed.” She pushed up her glasses again.

“To be fair, it will be a first in Drasilian history,” the princess said with a smile. “Considering his grandfather’s penchant for the ladies,” she could not keep the exasperation from her voice, “it was a little bit of a surprise that he fell so deeply in love with a man. And _such_ a man.”

Sir Hendrik added, “To think he once spent time in the dungeons beneath Heliodor for thievery.”

Jade brightened. “Oh, that’s right. You know him, Your Majesty. He was the boy who once lived in semi-slavery to your marauding Vikings.”

“Erik?” Frysabel blushed again, then laughed as if knowing how obvious her feelings must be. “Yes. In my youth I would watch him unload the boats by the pier. He is… well, let us be honest and say it is no wonder that His Highness, the Luminary, would find Erik irresistible.”

“From orphaned servitude to Prince Consort,” Jade said. “Not a bad story.”

Hendrik said, “Yet we would be remiss if we did not say how well-deserved it is. I have fought beside Erik these many weeks, and his unwavering loyalty to the Crown Prince is most noble.”

Jade laughed again. “Thank _Yggdrasil_ Lord Robert hasn’t thought to bring up the subject of heirs yet. But you know it _will_ come up.”

Frysabel gestured to a cluster of chairs at the base of the dais. “Come, I am being so inconsiderate. Take your ease with me as we discuss matters of state.” The three retired to the comfortable seating as Frysabel motioned for refreshment to be brought. “You ask how things fare in Sniflheim? Where can I begin? We have reclaimed the Snærfelt and the Hekswood from the evil monsters that dwelt there. The portions of the city that had fallen into neglect when Krystalinda ran rampant here have been completely reconstructed with her aid.”

Hendrik glanced around. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I had noticed the absence of your trusted advisor.”

“Yes,” Frysabel said. “She has gone to negotiate peace with the Viking marauders. They seem to be the last holdout causing difficulties around here. I have no doubts her skills will cause her mission to be successful.”

Jade raised an eyebrow. She was pretty sure that by “skills” Frysabel meant a killer body, sharp tongue, and vaguely threatening magic powers. She suppressed a chuckle.

Hendrik said only, “Ah,” and beckoned the queen to continue.

“Our most wonderful project has been the ongoing reconstruction of the Royal Library. We’ve engaged the services of Erdrea’s most renowned scholar, Beatrice of Dundrasil. She is cataloging the entire collection, a project never before undertaken, all while the building itself is being renovated after its ravaging by monsters during the years of the Dark One’s influence. As soon as we have taken some nourishment, we must ride out to see it. You will be most amazed by Beatrice—she is the last thing you would expect from someone so in love with books.” The queen laughed. “Krystalinda had painted such a picture in my mind of an awkward, retiring, slight of a woman, that when Beatrice finally arrived, my dear ice witch had to pick her jaw up off the floor.”

“I’m intrigued,” Jade said. “By the whole library project, and by this decidedly unscholarly scholar.”

A servant bore in a large tray and set it before the friends, bidding them, “Enjoy,” before slipping back out of the throne room. Hendrik and Jade waited for their host to serve herself, but she once again broke protocol by serving them first. The princess of Heliodor smiled to herself. Frysabel might be the queen of a great nation, but she was, beneath it all, a terribly sweet woman.

Hendrik thanked their host with his usual formality before tucking into a steaming meat pie and washing down his first bite with a swallow of cold water. Jade followed suit, except she allowed herself the queen’s fine, red wine. Frysabel seemed to prefer lighter fare: roasted pheasant and steamed greens. Well, thought Jade, reveling in the taste of hearty elk on her tongue, it’s not as though she spends her time in combat.

Jade’s ears perked up, catching the sound of distress. She noted Hendrik stiffening in his seat, his fork frozen in midair. Frysabel was last to pick up on the shift in the air. “Help!” came a muffled voice through the throne room doors. “I need to see the queen! The library! It’s the library!”

A guard’s stern response vibrated through the door. “Stand down, Boy. The queen is receiving foreign dignitaries. You will have to—”

“No! There’s not time! Monsters have attacked the Royal Library! Hurry!”

Hendrik was on his feet and halfway to the door in a single stride, Jade flying after him. “Open the doors,” Queen Frysabel commanded to the guards on the inside. They pulled open the enormous wooden barriers and an adolescent boy near flung himself into the room.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Help! The Library has been attacked!”

Frysabel knelt before the hysterical child. “Lars,” she said, “calm down. What has happened?” She reached up and grasped his shoulders, and he cried out in pain.

“You are hurt,” said Hendrik. “Let me aid you.” He, too, knelt by the boy, and laid an enormous hand on the wounded shoulder and a second on the young man’s back, murmuring a prayer to Yggdrasil. Jade could see the child’s body relax as the pain instantly subsided.

“Your Majesty, please. We were all hard at work, as usual. Beatrice sent me to find some books and while I was returning to her, the library was attacked. Hunter mechs and otter shambles and a riding dragon. Everyone scattered. Some of us were trapped on the third level and I was attacked by a professaurus, and Beatrice saved us. She fought off the professaurus and activated the switch just before we were beset by otter shambles. I got everyone out and told them to run for the Hekswood, but she’s still in there!” Lars burst into tears, “Please, please, Your Majesty, Beatrice is still in the library. And there’s an army of monsters at the door. And worse,” his voice grew hoarse with fear, “there was a horse I did not recognize tethered at the entrance.” He could not continue.

“What is so frightening about a horse?” Frysabel asked, but Jade saw the fury that flashed across Hendrik’s face.

“They are being led by a human,” he growled. “Young Lars, you are most astute, and your loyalty to your mistress is commendable. Rest now. We shall go to her aid, and I will not return to you unless it is with her, safe.” He turned to the guards by the door. “Mount up!” he roared. “Muster your men! We ride for the library!”

Jade would have laughed at Hendrik’s sudden disregard for all protocol in seizing command of another ruler’s soldiers. But the situation sounded dire, and she knew Queen Frysabel would have gladly given that command herself had time allowed. She placed a hand on Lars’ head. “Your heroism will not be forgotten,” she said. “Stay here and rest, now your trial is over. We will fight from here.” With a smile at her friend, the queen, Jade turned and sprinted from the room after her knight protector, who had already disappeared into the hall beyond.

Jade

They rode furiously from the city gates, a mass of nearly fifty men, Hendrik in the lead upon Obsidian, with Jade at his flank on Fisticuffs. Hendrik’s undying chivalry would have insisted Jade remain behind, but she knew he had long given up his role of knight protector in anything but name. After all, she had bested him in hand to hand combat on more occasions than they could either of them count. She knew that despite his sense of propriety, he saw her as an equal in every way save one: she would always be his princess, and therefore his superior. Jade, of course, had the privilege to see him as equal in every way, and so she did, and was honored to ride alongside him into battle.

As they rounded the last bend in the pathway before the Royal Library, the situation became clear. Hunter mechs and drackymas, orcs and bodkin bowyers, glacial golems and Hell’s gatekeepers swarmed around the building’s main entrance, spilled over the land bridge and spread across the field under the command of two orc kings. A labradrake and a chihuawyrm hovered above the ranks of monsters, and an enormous troll stood directly in front of the doorway, preventing access in either direction.

“We’re outnumbered,” Jade called to Hendrik.

The warrior frowned into his beard. “Only in bodies,” he said. “We have faced greater odds than these, and it is the combined strength of our spirit that has won the day.” He reared on his great, black mount and turned to the rest of the troops. “Archers, clear the flying enemies. The rest of you, fight in groups!” he called. “Leave no man’s back unguarded! The enemy is numerous, but cowardly—your honor will soon rout them. Remember the Dark One is no more!” He wheeled again, and brandished his great blade in the air crying, “FOR SNIFLHEIM!”

With a collective shout, the men surged forward into the thick of the monsters, instinctively pairing off as instructed, fighting back to back. In the madness, man after man was dragged from his mount and the battle raged on the ground, evil beasts sending up clouds of putrid smoke at their deaths, while human blood sprayed across the snow. Jade and Hendrik leapt into the fray, dismounting and fighting their way toward the land bridge, each watching the other’s flank. The chaos of battle dimmed to a dull muffle in Jade’s ears as she called upon her inner strength of being to guide her hands and feet in delivering their blows. Still she was aware of how the others fared, the screams of the wounded piercing her martial-arts-trained peace.

“Jade,” came Hendrik’s shout above the din, “my healing is required more than my blade. Fall back and find another partner,” he commanded. Only here, in battle, would he dare give her any sort of order.

“I’ll follow you,” she shouted back, and the two dropped away from the front line. Jade found Oskar, the captain of Frysabel’s guard, whose co-fighter had fallen into the crimson snow, and grabbed his shoulder. “With me!” she cried, and he nodded, fearlessly surging forward into the melee. Between kills, her eyes tracked Hendrik, noting as he lent his holy skills to one after another of the fallen, returning man after man to the battle in full fighting condition. After half an hour more of intense combat, she saw him return to the fray, sweeping through the horde of evil with his massive blade. Jade allowed herself a moment of lustful admiration. Truly Hendrik was a god on the battlefield. With a flip of her long hair, she turned her mind and body back to the task at hand. The onslaught of twisted horror seemed never-ending. But she knew they must be making progress. The door loomed closer with every kick of her powerful legs, every landed blow of her formidable fists. With Hendrik at the helm, this thrown-together army would certainly be victorious.

Beatrice

Beatrice hung limp, no longer able to support herself on her toes. Blood ran from stab wounds and slices in her hands and arms, chest and side. She had been unable to tell her captor anything useful about his books, though she herself had gleaned enough from his questions to be fearful. If these texts actually existed, which she believed they must, they would be a source of such dark power as to rival that of the one who had just fallen to the luminary’s blessed might. Should the library be held in the control of this man, surely he would find them eventually. And then what? Her own powerlessness tore at her heart. _Curse this weak body_ , she thought. _I cannae hold on to my wits._ Despair had begun to creep into her spirit, the spirit she had vowed he would not break. The pain and the blood loss made it harder and harder to hope.

A commotion below echoed up through the building. At first Beatrice, so addled by her torture, wasn’t sure it was real. But then her unwanted companion turned and strode from the room, calling to his minions. “I _told_ you not to let anyone out alive!” he snarled. “Get down there! Sniflheim doesn’t have a well-honed military. Surely we can hold off any paltry force they might muster.”

It was the first time Beatrice had heard his composure falter, and her fear ticked up. His attacks on her thus far had been measured, deliberate. Would haste or even desperation cause him to inflict a mortal wound?

She lifted her head just in time for him to smash his full weight behind his arm into her throat. She gagged at the pressure on her windpipe, and the pain that radiated through her battered body. “My master needs those books,” he hissed, his breath hot in her face. “They are the only thing that can bring back the Dark One, and you are the only one who can solve the riddle of how to make them work. I _will_ have them, and I _will_ have your cooperation.”

Beatrice mustered the last of her strength and spit in his face.

He roared in fury, drawing back his fist to land a terrible blow. Beatrice braced for the impact, but it didn’t come. She opened her eyes to see his, yellow-grey and flinty, mere inches from hers.

“You’ve uncommon strength for a _woman._ ” He spat the word as if it disgusted him. “I’d be a fool to think any more blows would break you. So I’ll take a different tack.”

He raised a hand and stroked the side of her cheek, then slid his fingers down past her neck to cover her breast. Nausea rose in Beatrice’s throat. She felt the cold, flat of her own blade slide between her stomach and the fabric of her bodice. “No,” she croaked. With a soft, mocking chuckle, he twisted and heaved at the dagger, tearing the linen from bottom to top, exposing her stomach and breasts to the air. “No!” she coughed, kicking outward frantically. He caught her leg in a powerful grip, then ran his hand to her ankle, and back up beneath the voluminous layers of her skirt.

The nausea worsened, and Beatrice felt she would vomit on him at any moment. She willed herself to do so, but her own body would not listen to her. She had vowed he would not break her, and he had not yet done so despite the torture. In her life, she had endured plenty of pain and loss. But this was new.

Blood pounded in her ears as she twisted and writhed in his grip, tears of rage and despair spilling down her cheeks. The weight of his body pinned her against the shelves and as he lifted her skirts and pressed into her, she could feel the hardness of him and recoiled in revulsion. He ran his terrible, rough hands down over her breasts, his lips fastened onto her neck, scratching her tender skin with his unkempt beard.

“No!” She wanted to scream but it came out a painful whisper. Even as the distant sounds of battle below had given her hope, she knew he would have her, would take by violence that which was not his, and it would break her. “Yggdrasil!” she choked out. “Help me!”

Feet came pelting into the room. A woman shouted, “Hey! Arsehole!” and all at once Beatrice’s assailant was flung away with a great thud. A blur of pale green leather and jet black hair swirled past her failing vision, and the sound of bone breaking beneath physical blows followed. Her would-be rapist slid across the marble floor and toward the doorway.

Another man appeared above him, broad and strong, wielding an enormous blade. “You foul blackguard!” the man roared. “How dare you force yourself on a helpless woman!”

“That bitch is far from helpless,” came the reply as her attacker rolled to his feet and drew his own sword. “You should see what she did to my professaurus!”

The bonds around Beatrice’s wrists went slack, and she fell into the strong arms of her rescuer. “Be still,” the woman said. “Your injuries are grave.”

“Don’t…” Beatrice rasped.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t…kill…him.”

The woman’s lavender eyes grew hard. “You would protect him?” she demanded.

“No! He…knows something… important. We must find…out.” Beatrice was losing consciousness, but she had to prevent them from killing this man, no matter what.

“Hendrik!” the woman called. “You can’t kill him. We need information he has.”

There was only a growl in reply as the sound of clashing blades filled the air. The woman laid Beatrice back against the bookshelf. “Wait here,” she said, and ran to join the fray. “She needs healing. I’ll take care of fuckwad here! And with pleasure!”

The sounds of fighting began to fade along with the light. Just before Beatrice drifted off, she looked up to see a pair of wide, blue-green eyes, so filled with gentleness it moved her to tears.

“Hold on, My Lady.” The rich baritone that had so recently roared in rage enveloped her in peaceful security. “All will be well,” he said. And she believed him.


	3. Chapter 3

_ The Dark Books: Day 1 _

Hendrik

Jade used the same rope that had bound Beatrice to secure their senseless miscreant. “I’ll admit I enjoyed that more than any other battle I’ve fought,” she said. Hendrik knew Jade well enough to know that underneath the self-confident front, she was sickened by what she’d seen this man had done. Few if any other women were so competent to defend themselves as the princess Jade. But in Hendrik’s experience, no woman could ever feel entirely safe from the horrors men could inflict upon them.

He unfastened his black and white cloak from around his throat and wrapped the crumpled body of the woman who could only be Beatrice within it, his heart sick with the thought of what torment she had endured in these past hours.

Jade’s hand lighted on his shoulder. “It’s done, Hendrik. Why so stricken?”

He shook his head, lavender hair sliding over his shoulder. “I had healed so many on the field below, I did not have sufficient power to reverse all her wounds. I fear scars will remain.”

“She’s not losing any more blood, at least.” She paused and Hendrik looked up at her. “And, no matter how much power you have to heal her wounds,” she said, “after this…scars will remain.”

Hendrik grimaced. Jade was right.

“Come on. Let’s get back to Sniflheim. The sooner you rest up, the sooner you can do a full heal on her.” Effortlessly, Jade hoisted the villain to her shoulder, and nodded toward Beatrice. “You carry her. She needs the support of your ginormous biceps.” She managed a half-smile and strode off toward the staircase.

With a glance after Jade, Hendrik got to his feet and gently lifted Beatrice into his arms, brushing her dark curls away from her face. He cradled her to his broad chest and walked as softly as he could manage in armored boots back to the library’s entrance. All the queen’s men stood waiting in the snow, having cleared out the remaining monsters and returned the library to some semblance of order. A few murmured at the sight of Beatrice and Hendrik announced, “She lives. Let us return to the palace.”

With one arm still holding his charge, he swept onto Obsidian’s back, adjusting his cloak under her body so that the hard leather of the saddle would not dig into her as they rode. “On, Obsidian,” he murmured, giving his trusted steed his rein, and holding Beatrice in both his arms as they went.

He could not stop looking at her, could not stop seeing the puckered scar on her left cheek that he had been unable to erase, the blackened bruising on her throat, could not stop seeing, over and over again, the vision of that man pressed against her dangling body. And why? He had seen countless men of this criminal’s mien using their real or imagined power to victimize women, had stepped in wherever he had been able to, and sometimes too late. He had seen his own soldiers cross the line with civilian women and disciplined them accordingly. Why did he feel as though somehow he had failed Beatrice, when not four hours ago he had known nothing of her existence?

He shook his head, trying to shake off the inexplicable concern. He would rest back at the palace. All would look different in the morning.

_ The Dark Books: Day 2 _

Hendrik

Hendrik spent two hours in prayer and meditation, and an hour in a hot bath, but still could not find sleep until a draught of strong liquor was brought to him. He arose before dawn and shrugged into a clean linen shirt and breeches, padding on bare feet to the room where Beatrice lay recovering. A guard stood stationed outside the door, but immediately stepped aside upon seeing the hero knight.

He pushed the door inward. Jade sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, her hand lying gently on Lars’ head as he slept in a rolled blanket. She glanced up and held a finger to her lips, and Hendrik dropped into a crouch beside her.

“It’s so adorable,” Jade said, barely audible. “He refuses to leave her side.”

He thought of his own loyalty to the Luminary and a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I understand completely,” he said. Even at a low volume, Hendrik’s voice resonated, and beside him, Beatrice groaned and rolled over. His eyes grew wide and Jade shot him a scolding glare.

Beatrice’s groan morphed into words. “No,” she murmured. “You willnae break me.” Her voice was ragged from whatever attack had rendered her throat purple. She tossed, her arm flying free from the covers. “I willnae help you bring darkness back into the…” More indistinct words and another groan. “No!” Her agitation rose. “You will—No! Help me! No!”

Jade rolled to her feet and reached out her hands to the thrashing woman. “Beatrice,” she said, her voice firm and gentle, “Beatrice, all is well. You are safe.”

“Aah!” The woman flung herself upright, fighting off Jade’s hands, then stopped and sagged where she sat. “Oh. Oh, Yggdrasil,” she said, and wiped the tears that had begun coursing down her face during her nightmare. She coughed and then groaned with the pain of it. Jade reached for a flagon of water beside the bed and held it as the woman drank it in labored sips.

Lars sprang up. “Beatrice! It’s me! It’s Lars!”

Hendrik put a restraining hand on his arm. “Gently, Lars,” he said. “She is disoriented. Give her room to breathe.” Lars sank back to the floor. “Good man.”

At length, Jade set the water aside and dropped into the chair at the head of the bed.

Beatrice pushed the hair out of her face and ran her nightgown sleeve under her dripping nose. “Ach, forgive me. I… I dreamed…”

“Be at peace, Beatrice,” said Jade. “I’m afraid these nightmares may be with you some time.”

“Aye. I dinnae doubt it.” Her voice was small, fragile, an emotional fragility, rather than that which resulted from her throat wound. “Ah, Lars,” she said, reaching out a hand. The boy rose to his knees and walked on them until he was at her side. She lighted long fingers on his shoulder. “You saved me,” she said.

Lars shook his head. “No. They did,” he said, gesturing to Jade and Hendrik.

“And how would they have come to my aid if you hadnae gone for help?”

“You’re the one who saved _my_ life,” he insisted, ice-blue eyes misting. “And I wasn’t fast enough—they were almost too late.” He slapped away tears.

Beatrice gripped his shoulder. “If you were nae fast enough, there would have been no ‘almost’ about it. You’re a hero, Lad.”

“He’s more a hero than even you know,” said Jade. “He led your workers safely out of the building and toward the Hekswood, even going back in to rescue those the monsters had taken prisoner.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Is this true, Lad?”

Lars nodded, not meeting her eyes. “I only did what you told me to do.”

“Well, then, now I am telling you to be proud of your heroism. And will you disobey me this time?” A ghost of a smile drifted across the boy’s face. “Now, young hero, go and tell her majesty that I am awake and ready to speak with her.” Lars nodded and ducked out.

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” asked Jade.

“I feel there is some urgency…” Beatrice trailed off. “Forgive me,” she said. “You have me at a disadvantage. Clearly you know who I am, but…to whom do I owe gratitude for my… for…” Her eyes clouded.

“I am Jade of Heliodor,” the martial artist said.

“Not… not the Princess? Ach, but I’m in no condition to curtsey.”

Jade laughed. “And I’m in no condition to ask anyone to curtsey to me ever, if I could help it.”

That got a smile out of Beatrice. “You’re a lass after my own heart,” she said. “For more reasons than one, now.”

Her eyes found Hendrik, now seated on the floor. He found it difficult to meet her gaze, and bowed his head instead. “My Lady, I am Sir Hendrik, formerly of Heliodor, and serving as knight protector to the Princess Jade and emissary of Dundrasil.”

“Do not bow to me, Sir Hendrik, great hero of Heliodor. It is I who, in the company of such dignitaries, ought to lower my eyes.”

Hendrik’s head snapped up, anger flaring in his chest. “No,” he said, rather more fiercely than he ought to have done. “You shall lower your eyes to no man, My Lady. Never again.”

Beatrice froze, lips slightly parted, and dropped her hands into her lap.

Hendrik dropped his head again. “Forgive me, My Lady. I should not have spoken to you so forcefully.”

“Be at ease, Sir Hendrik,” she said. “You honor me by your strong feelings.”

He looked up at her, meeting her gaze for the first time. The warmth in the rich depths of her brown eyes surprised him. How could she be so generous so soon after her ordeal?

For a moment he could not find his voice. Then he glanced down at his shirt, only half laced, and his bare feet. He said, “You will forgive my coming to see you so informal this morning. But my ability to heal wounds had been exhausted in the fighting, and I was only able to offer you a superficial staying of your injuries. I have been renewed now, and felt I ought to make haste to offer my services to restore your health in full.”

Beatrice nodded. “By all means,” she said, “for truth be told, I am still in a great deal of pain.”

Hendrik frowned. “My Lady, I feel I must apologize.”

“What, for healing me?” Her expression held incredulity.

“No. Only that I had squandered my powers before I came to find you. I am afraid that even after I heal you now, scars will remain.”

Over his head, Beatrice looked at Jade. “Is he serious?” she asked.

“Deadly,” answered Jade, violet eyes twinkling.

Beatrice’s hand found the wound on her cheek. “Ach, perhaps a few well-placed scars will make me even more intimidating than people already find me. It’ll add to my strange mystique as a mad scholar.”

Comforted by her display of spirit, Hendrik rose to take position by her side, and knelt there. Growing sober, he looked up at her and paused. “May I… touch you?” he asked.

Beatrice hesitated, and Hendrik sensed, rather than saw her body flinch slightly. But she nodded, saying, “You may.”

Keenly aware of her pain and grief, he reached out and laid one hand on her shoulder, and placed two fingers on her sternum, below her collar bone. He closed his eyes and murmured, “Most Holy Yggdrasil, I beseech thee come, impart thy power through my hands to knit flesh and stop blood, in the name of Her whose arms hold all.”

Holy power surged through Hendrik’s chest, down his arm and into Beatrice’s body. She shuddered under his touch, then sighed. “Well that was certainly something,” she said, stretching her arms out, running her hands down the lengths of the scarred limbs. She reached to her cheek, fingering the fine scar that remained there. “Ach, yes. This will make me appear right badass indeed,” she said.

Hendrik could not help but smile.

Hendrik

“You must interrogate that man,” Beatrice said to Queen Frysabel. “He is a part of some dark plan. He came to find a series of books in the Royal Library. Books that will bring the Dark One back into the world.” They sat in the throne room, in the same cluster of chairs Hendrik and Jade had occupied not twenty-four hours earlier. Color had returned to Beatrice’s cheeks, and was now heightened by her agitation. Agitation which also caused her chestnut eyes to spark with intensity. Hendrik tried to draw his focus away from her face and back to her words.

The Queen frowned. “Have you seen these books?”

Beatrice shook her head. “Not according to his description. But there are thousands of texts on those shelves, and more than half of them are scattered about with no rhyme or reason.”

Frysabel pushed up her glasses, brows knit in thought. “What I don’t understand is that if he knew what he was looking for, why not come look for the books himself? Why involve you at all?”

“I’m nae certain, Your Majesty,” she said. “He gave the impression there was some urgency about his mission. As though he were attempting a short cut by going directly to me.” Beatrice went silent for a moment. Hendrik felt the urge to reach out a comforting hand. That wasn’t like him. And in any case, he knew it would have the opposite effect. Instead he endured in silence while she struggled with her thoughts and feelings. Finally she said, “He said that I was somehow a key to the plan.”

This time Hendrik could not hold his tongue. “How so, My Lady?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

“That’s why we need to interrogate him. There is too much about all of this that makes no sense.” The Drasilian scholar clenched her fists in frustration.

Queen Frysabel nodded at last. “He is being held in solitude in the dungeon,” she said. “I see no reason not to begin proceedings at once.” She pushed up her glasses and looked at Beatrice. “You understand more than any of us what we’re trying to find out. I think it best you do the interro—”

“No!” Beatrice cried, recoiling, then clutched the arms of her chair with trembling hands. Tears filled her eyes. “ _Damn_ ,” she hissed. “I—my apologies Your Majesty. I—”

Hendrik felt his anger rising again, kept it carefully in check.

Jade interceded. “I do not think it would be wise for Beatrice to be in the same room as that detestable slime.” She turned in Hendrik’s direction, head tipped slightly toward him. “Perhaps Sir Hendrik would be the best candidate for the job. And Sir Hendrik… _alone_.”

“Yes,” the knight said. “I will question him.”

Hendrik

Back in her chambers, Beatrice sank into the chair by the window. “I want to question him,” she said, her voice tiny. “It ought to be me. I swore he would not break my spirit.”

“And he need not have, Beatrice,” said Jade, laying the comforting hand on her arm that Hendrik wished fervently he could offer. “Give it time.”

“Yes, My Lady,” Hendrik echoed. “Give it time. I will be only too glad to interrogate him on your behalf until you are ready to face him. Just tell me if there is anything specific I ought to ask.”

Beatrice nodded. “Aye, I suppose that’s best.”

Jade said, “There is a woman I know who is skilled in the arts of healing the mind and heart. Would you be opposed to me sending for her? I don’t know exactly whether she would be available to come. We have not been in touch for two years or more.”

“Is such a thing possible?” Beatrice asked, her voice still painfully small.

“In my experience, it is.” The princess sighed deeply and stared out the frost-painted window into the afternoon sunlight. “Before I found Prince El again, I harbored so much pain and guilt, thinking he had been killed because of me. Lord Robert and the monks of Angri-La said it was impeding my advancement. It was Lord Robert who knew of this woman’s gifts and sent for her. She relocated to the mountain just to work with me every week for nearly a year while I trained in combat. And in the end, I was able to believe what had happened wasn’t my fault.” She paused and met Beatrice’s eyes. “She can do the same for you.”

“Ach, aye. I suppose it couldnae hurt. Perhaps she can help me relinquish more than the pain of these past few hours,” she said.

Hendrik frowned. Of course. Beatrice was of Dundrasil. What had she already lost in the destruction of that fair city and the near genocide of her people? This torture at the hands of their mystery prisoner was merely the latest in what certainly was a life filled with grief. Yet to all accounts, she was of a passionate, indomitable spirit. Or had been until just yesterday… He felt a scowl cross his features. He hoped he could hold himself back from doing irreparable violence to the blackguard in the dungeons.


	4. Chapter 4

_ The Dark Books: Day 2 _

Hendrik

The prisoner lay on a pile of soft straw, still senseless from the beating Jade had given him. Though Hendrik felt no sympathy, his better nature required him to heal the man’s wounds, so he knelt and laid hands on his shoulders and offered a prayer to Yggdrasil. Beneath his fingers, he could almost feel the knitting of bones, closing of cuts, and erasure of bruises. The man stirred.

“On your feet,” Hendrik thundered.

The prisoner opened one eye. “Kiss my arse,” he said, insolence dripping from his whole demeanor. The knight lifted him by his throat and slammed him against the back wall of the small enclosure. “OW! FUCK!” he shouted, throwing his shackled arms over his head protectively. “Ease _off_ , Hendrik! _Yggdrasil_ , you haven’t changed!”

Hendrik dropped the prisoner into a heap at his feet and towered over him. “Do not speak so familiar, man,” he growled. “You will address me as _Sir_ Hendrik if at all!”

“You will address me as _Sir_ Hendrik if at all,” the man repeated in a flawless imitation. The knight started, but refused to be impressed by this gift for mimicry. The other man tugged at his wild hair and fell back into his own voice. “So you finally sucked off Carnelian enough times for a knighthood, huh.”

Hendrik stepped back, checking his rising rage. Obviously the man was provoking him intentionally. But with what knowledge? Could this familiarity have been obtained through those who had known him in youth? Or possibly…

“Who are you,” Hendrik asked, voice even. “What business have you in Sniflheim?”

“I think you already know my business,” he said, brushing straw out of his shaggy hair and beard. “I’m sure that bitch told you everything I said to her.” He sneered and added, “But did she tell you how much she enjoyed it when I grabbed her—.”

Hendrik lashed out with a booted foot, smashing the prisoner back into the wall with the sound of snapping ribs.

A trickle of blood dripped from the man’s lips and into his beard. Still he managed a rasping laugh from where he lay on the ground. “You always were so easy to get a rise out of,” he said. “Good old Holier-than-thou Hendrik. You know that’s what we called you behind your back, right?”

“Holier-than…” Hendrik froze. “No, it cannot be.” He dropped to the ground, pinning his adversary to the stones with one arm and a knee, and forcing the hair back from the prone man’s face with his other hand. “Dear Yggdrasil,” he murmured. “Markus.”

Markus laughed again, forcing more blood from his mouth. Hendrik shoved away from him and walked back to the cell door. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice tinged with pain.

“Oh come now,” Markus said, pushing himself to a sitting position and gasping as he leaned into the wall. “You’re not still pining over my dead brother, are you? Just because he chose the Lord of Shadows over you?”

Hendrik scowled. “You will not speak of your brother again.”

“Save it, Hendrik,” Markus spat. “Jasper betrayed you. Can you seriously still be taking his side?”

“Jasper was deceived. He was not entirely to blame, and he has made his amends. Whereas _you_!” He clenched his fist, itching to reach for his blade, but stayed his hand. “You claim that I have not changed since our youth, but it is _you_ who has remained the same. Your legendary hatred of women lives on after all these years.”

“Nonsense,” Markus drawled, still trying to get comfortable with his broken ribs. “I don’t hate women. I love them. I love the pleasure they bring me.”

“With no regard for the terror they experience.”

“Pah. Don’t be naïve, Mister Chivalry. They all love it.”

Hendrik roared, a guttural ejaculation, and spun to kick Markus again, checking himself just before lashing out as the younger man cringed before him. “I will not succumb to your manipulation,” he said. “I will not _stoop_ to your despicable level.” He returned to the cell door, breathing deeply, praying for calm. “What are you doing here?” he repeated. “What are you tangled up in? What dark forces are using you for their own ends?”

Markus laughed. “Do not condescend to me, great hero of Heliodor,” he mocked, in a perfect impersonation of Jasper. “No one is using me. I am equal partner in this new endeavor. And whereas my brother utterly failed in his service to the Lord of Shadows, I will succeed, and bring endless night upon Erdrea.”

“You already told Beatrice of Dundrasil that you served a master, so you are no equal partner in this, whatever you claim. Who is he? What are these books you are so desperate to put your hands on?”

“I will have those books,” Markus said, a rare note of seriousness in his voice. “And I will have Beatrice of Dundrasil to decipher them, make no mistake.”

“You will have _nothing_ ,” Hendrik said. “You will rot here until such time as you are ready to answer my questions. Do not send for me before then.” Hendrik slammed out of the cell, flinging the door to behind him. “Guard!” he called, turning the key in the lock. Footsteps approached from the outer hall.

“I won’t send for you at all,” Markus sneered. “You will get nothing from me.”

Hendrik strode from the room, not looking back.

Beatrice

“Jasper had a brother?” Jade asked, wide-eyed.

Hendrik nodded, brows knit in anger. “Unfortunately.”

Beatrice looked from one to the other. “You speak of Sir Jasper of Heliodor? The master strategist and your longtime co-general?” Hendrik winced and Beatrice’s heart filled with a mix of curiosity and compassion. “These are not good memories,” she said.

“No, My Lady,” Hendrik agreed. “Sir Jasper fell under the influence of the Lord of Shadows and betrayed all Erdrea. Though it was without my knowledge, I was complicit in his turn to evil. Yet in our youth we were bosom friends, children together from the time King Carnelian took me in after Zwaardsrust fell. Jasper and Markus were the sons of a nobleman who had fallen on hard times. The king had taken them in not long before I came to Heliodor, and before Jasper and I entered into warrior training at the age of 14, the three of us ran roughshod over the city, getting into mischief and causing havoc as boys are wont to do.”

Beatrice saw glimmers of genuine nostalgia flit across the man’s broad features, but his aqua eyes held such sorrow. “Ach, I had six younger brothers. I well remember such things,” she said, and suddenly found herself on the verge of tears again. In her fragile state, the barest thoughts of the past threatened to topple her composure. She pushed aside the old grief, grateful when Hendrik took up the tale again.

“Markus trained as a knight when he was old enough—he was two years our junior. But when I was not yet twenty, he forced himself upon one of the castle maids, a certain Ivy Rose. She came to me for help, and I confronted him, but he insisted it was only her word against his that she had not been a willing participant. She was too frightened of what would happen if she went to the king, so I interceded with His Majesty on her behalf. He, in turn, took it to Markus and Jasper’s father. In the end, it was decided that if she would not come forward and accuse him, there was nothing the law could do to help.”

Jade growled. “My _father_ did this?”

Hendrik held up a hand. “Do not judge him so harsh, Your Highness. He did not fail to act. While he could not bring formal charges against the man, he found other reasons to dismiss him from the guard, and banished him from Heliodor.”

The princess rose, fists clenched, and kicked into a wall, leaving a sizeable hole in the plaster. “That _bastard!_ ” she snarled.

“Yes, Markus is—”

“Not Markus; my _father!_ ”

“Your Highness!” Hendrik could not mask his shock at Jade’s verbal abuse of her father and king.

“He let that man, that _rapist_ wander free across the countryside? And how many other women have suffered at his hands before now?” Her rage coursed visibly through her taut muscles.

“I know it,” Hendrik said, his voice full of regret. “I knew it then. I begged him to take a different course of action. To jail Markus indefinitely. But he would not hear me. And so I failed Ivy Rose, and likely countless others.” He turned toward Beatrice, pain on his normally stoic features, still unable to look her directly in the eye. “And now you.”

Beatrice touched his arm. “Ach, no guilt, now. You were hardly more than a boy, Sir Hendrik. You couldnae have hoped to force the will of the king. And you spoke up for that poor girl when no one else would.” She turned to Jade. “And you, Your Highness. You cannae fail to understand, can you? King your father may be, but he remains human and a man. Rather than rage at him for his callousness, it couldnae hurt to work with him toward better laws that protect women. I cannae believe he wouldnae see reason. You need only have him imagine it was you that fell victim to Markus all those years ago.”

Jade actually laughed. “My father is probably the only man in Erdrea who doesn’t worry about his daughter’s safety.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I’ve no doubt you can defend yourself from any man, but I guarantee you your father still worries about you, and if forced to put the image of you in place of Ivy Rose… those laws would be written and passed in less than a fortnight.”

Hendrik sighed and ran a strong hand through his lavender locks, sending them falling into his face. “This does not help us now,” he said. “Markus is not forthcoming, and we are no closer to solving the riddle of his presence here.”

“Solving the riddle.” Beatrice frowned.

“What say you, My Lady? You sound intrigued.”

She nodded, eyes narrowed. “Markus said I was the only one to solve the riddle. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps if I find the books he’s searching for, I can understand what this is all about, and bring and end to whatever sinister plan is in the offing before it can be undertaken.”

Hendrik frowned. “You are playing with powers you cannot understand,” he said. “What if this is exactly what he wants you to do? You cannot know that if and when you find these books their power will not draw you in and corrupt you. I say if we should come across one of these texts, it should be immediately destroyed.”

“Nonsense,” Beatrice said. “There is power in knowledge. The more I understand about these books, the more equipped I am to combat whatever evil they might contain.”

Jade laughed. “And in any case, Hendrik, I can tell by the look on Beatrice’s face that you have no more chance of keeping her from investigating than you do of getting Markus to talk.”

A rush of gratitude suffused Beatrice’s limbs. A conundrum! A task to take her mind from the waves of helpless terror that still washed over her with every breath, threatening to break the spirit she had sworn she would not relinquish!


	5. Chapter 5

_ The Dark Books: Day 3 _

Jade

Perhaps it was sympathy or solidarity with Beatrice, but Jade woke the next morning with a lingering revulsion in her chest and throat from a bizarre nightmare in which a strange-looking hooper trooper had enslaved her, taking over her mind and repeatedly…she shuddered. The dream had recurred a few times since they’d defeated Mordegon and she’d thought little of it, but in light of recent happenings it felt far more real. She rose from her bed and began her morning training and meditation practice, working to banish the images of the handsy monster from her head.

A knock interrupted her handstand push-ups and she lowered her feet to the floor before calling, “Come in.”

Hendrik appeared in the doorway. “The messengers have departed for Heliodor and Dundrasil. I have no doubt that King Carnelian and Lord Robert will support our decision to stay for the time being.”

“Of course they will, if what Markus said about these books is true.” She stretched her arms behind her.

“We may never find out,” Hendrik said, thoughtfully rubbing his beard. “The information is vague, and there is the possibility that the books are not actually in the Royal Library.”

“And after what’s happened, Beatrice may not even feel up to going back to the library for a few more days.” Shrugging, she added, “Meanwhile, we can help out with the renovations. We’re certainly both up to the task physically.” She grinned and flexed her arms.

“Indeed.”

_ The Dark Books: Day 11 _

Hendrik

Beatrice’s first instruction to the volunteers upon returning to work had been to go in search of the books of power Markus had described. “Black leather,” she had said, “but so dark as to actually absorb light. The front cover of each will be embossed with a great heptagram, a seven-pointed star. It’ll be barely visible because of the darkness of the leather, but you should be able to feel it. If you open the book, there willnae be a title, nor any sort of introductory text. The words will simply begin. And dinnae expect them to make a whit of sense. They may or may not be words you recognize, but they’ll be strung together in a way that hasnae much if any meaning.” The volunteers were more than happy to have a new task to undertake, rather than the same old sorting of books by topic in preparation for Beatrice to review them. They had scampered off to start the search.

Now, a week later, with not one book yet to be found, Beatrice was back to being immersed in the cataloging process. She wandered into the inner sanctum with an armload of texts, her curls escaping from their leather binding.

“Sir Hendrik, would you be so kind as to help Lars on the lower level? He’s to bring up every book he can find from the works of Omnibus the Prolific, and I’m certain you’ll be able to carry thrice the volumes he can.”

The knight was only too pleased to comply, and allowed himself a smile at Beatrice’s ease in the Special Collection. When they had first returned there following her convalescence, she had been a trembling wreck. She had clung to Jade, tears sliding down her face as they crossed the threshold, and had begged Hendrik to stand guard as, step by step, she insisted on reclaiming what was sacred to her, what Markus had poisoned. For a week, Hendrik had remained with her in that sanctum as she worked. At times she chatted freely about what she was doing, while at others she was so engrossed it was as if he were another statue like the one above the fireplace. Now she was not just allowing him to leave her, but asking him to do so.

“Give me a tour, young Lars,” Hendrik said. “This place bewilders me so.”

The boy laughed. “Beatrice hates the way the passages move around, but I love it. It makes the place all mysterious.”

“If you say so.” Floor by floor, switch by switch, the knight and the apprentice made their way to the collection in which Lars had been working for weeks. Hendrik peered upward at the top of the nearest bookcase, its uppermost shelf lost in shadow. “She is having you go through every book in this entire hallway?”

“One by one,” affirmed Lars cheerfully. He dragged a brass-plated ladder along the wall and began to climb to where a dark spot on a high shelf indicated a section of missing books.

“I have served the Luminary faithfully for a long time, now, but I cannot say I have ever experienced this level of loyalty.”

Lars froze on the ladder, then slowly climbed down. He raised haunted eyes toward the towering knight. “But I failed her,” he said.

“Nonsense,” said Hendrik. “She was quite clear that it was your heroism that ultimately saved her life.”

The boy shook his head. “She got hurt because she saved my life. I got grabbed by the professaurus and she had to rescue me. I couldn’t do anything to help. I don’t know the first thing about fighting. How can I defend her if I can’t fight.”

Hendrik dropped to one knee and peered into Lars’ ice-blue eyes. “Now I understand,” he said. “And you are correct. If you are to protect your benefactress, you would do well to learn to handle a sword.” He allowed a lopsided smile to creep across his face. “And it just so happens that I am committed to remaining in Sniflheim so long as Her Majesty, Princess Jade, decides to stay. With the Royal Library reclaimed and the land once again safe, it seems I have a little extra time on my hands. I do not suppose you would like me to teach you to fight.”

Lars’ eyes grew enormous. “Sir…Sir Hendrik, I…”

“Say yes, Man,” the knight said.

“Yes, Man! I—I mean, yes! Yes, Sir Hendrik!”

Hendrik ruffled the white-blonde head with a giant hand. “We shall commence following lunch, when all the workers take their rest.”

_ The Dark Books: Day 24 _

Hendrik

Another two weeks passed. The library renovations sped toward completion, and the cataloging of books inched forward at a snail’s pace. Beatrice appeared to care little about the latter, so long as the noise of the former promised to end. Each morning, Hendrik would descend to the dungeons to see if Markus had an information to share—he did not. Then he would ride out with Beatrice and Jade to the Royal Library and assist in any way necessary. In the afternoons, Hendrik taught Lars to fight while Jade discussed matters of governance with Queen Frysabel. Krystalinda had returned to the palace at Sniflheim, and in the evenings, she would assist Frysabel in hosting small dinner parties for their guests and a few palace dignitaries.

In any other circumstance, Sir Hendrik would have begun to feel a certain urgency to move on. For years on end, the Heliodorian knight had been consumed with fighting battles against hordes of monsters, or in his endless and mistaken pursuit of the misnamed Darkspawn. The call of duty had led him to every corner of Erdrea, and even to a rift in time and space beyond. Since then, he had been happily engaged in clearing out pockets of residual darkness, training soldiers for Dundrasil, and accompanying Jade on short but pointed visits to other kingdoms. Remaining in one place, completely at peace for a month ought to have made him anxious. Except.

Beatrice’s laugh rang out from the other end of the table, and Hendrik could not help but smile in response. He glanced at her over his wine glass, taking in the unruly curls that were forever escaping their bindings to gather at her cheeks and chin; the way she held her head when she listened, entirely engrossed in the other’s words, as if committing them all to memory; her easy way with her hands, gesturing with her fork, even slapping her palm down on Queen Frysabel’s shoulder. Beatrice was all Drasilian spirit, and he admired that spirit in a way that surprised him. He’d always preferred gentle, soft-spoken women, or so he’d thought. Yet he could not deny how impressed he was by her resilience.

Except the previous day someone laid a hand on her shoulder in what Hendrik gathered was a long-accepted familiarity, and she had flinched beneath the touch. It pained him in a way he could not fathom, and had driven him back to the dungeons to… what, exactly? He would not devolve into a the twisted torturer who had perpetrated this upon Beatrice, but he could not deny the anger that seethed in his breast when he thought of what Markus had done to her. He could not bear it if Markus had, even in some small way, diminished that spirit.

Jade reached over to refill Hendrik’s wine, but he stopped her—she well knew that one glass was his limit. He reached for the water pitcher instead as she said, “I need to get back to Heliodor. I got word from Father this morning asking if I would go to Gallopolis for the annual races in three weeks.”

Hendrik felt a sudden twinge in his gut. He pushed it aside. “Good, Your Highness. We leave on the morrow?”

Jade shook her head, her dark hair waving behind her. “Rab and El want you to stay here and watch over what’s happening at the library. So soon after Calasmos’ demise, they said they dare not leave even the remotest possibility of a resurgence of evil unmonitored.”

“But I swore to your father to serve as your knight protector on this journey.”

“Hah. First of all, your highest duty is to El. Second of all, I don’t need you and you know it.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “And third of all, you need to learn to relax more. All fighting and no partying makes Hendrik a dull boy.” She punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Besides,” she said, growing serious, “I’m still a little worried about our friend Beatrice over there. No doubt she’s a force to be reckoned with, but you and I both saw the way she flinched when that guy tapped her shoulder in the library yesterday.”

Hendrik nodded, unsurprised at Jade’s powers of observation. “I do not know how to help her,” He murmured. “You are a woman, and I have seen how much she appreciates your proximity to her. How can I be a source of strength to her, when it was a man of strength who used her so sorely?”

Jade’s violet eyes met his. “Be the strong man who would never hurt her,” she said. “Remind her there is such a thing.”

“Mmm,” he said, sipping his water to hide his unease. “I shall, of course, endeavor to do just that.”

“Oh for Yggdrasil’s sake, Hendrik. Just once I wish you would speak freely.” She leaned back in her seat and took a deep draught of her wine.

He frowned. “This is how I speak,” he said.

Jade began to giggle, something he had only ever seen her do when her blood alcohol was reaching epic proportions. It was a rare occurrence—she could hold her liquor better than most men he knew. Hendrik shook his head and glanced back at Beatrice.

Her eyes met his across the table and he found himself utterly paralyzed by them. He willed himself to look away before she noticed, but their dark brown depths, reflecting candle-light, held him transfixed. A single, long strand of curls had loosed itself from its binding and hung against the curve of her cheek and in that moment, Hendrik was seized by a powerful desire to reach out and brush it from her face. He felt a slow heat begin creeping from the base of his neck up toward his ears, and an answering movement in his loins. Dear Yggdrasil, why couldn’t he look away?!

Jade’s pony tail slapped him across the nose and he coughed, then inhaled a hank of hair and gagged on it. The princess dissolved into peals of laughter as she pulled the wayward lock from his mouth. “Oh, oh Hendrik! I am so sorry!”

Beside her, Krystalinda completely lost it. “I think you should count that pony tail amongst your most deadly weapons,” she gasped out.

Hendrik gulped down the rest of his water to stay his coughing spasm, secretly grateful for Jade’s inadvertent intervention. The princess giggled again, and Hendrik reached for the wine decanter, suddenly wishing he were as drunk as she. As he poured the crimson liquid into his glass, he caught a glimpse of the ice witch’s hand lighting on Jade’s thigh beneath the table.

Jade flashed her a sidelong glance and a slow smile crept across her lips. “My gracious,” she said with a luxurious stretch. “I’m afraid this excellent wine has gone to my head, Your Majesty. I think I’ll retire for the night.”

“As you wish, dear Jade,” Frysabel said, her blue eyes darting back and forth between the princess and her advisor. She pushed up her glasses to hide the smile that tugged at her mouth. The young queen might seem naïve, but clearly she was anything but. “Perhaps we should all turn in.”

“Aye,” said Beatrice. “I’m a wee bit lightheaded myself.” She rose to her almost six-foot height and tossed the edge of her shawl up over her shoulder. “My thanks, as always, for the hospitality, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, dear Beatrice,” the queen replied. “Rest well.”

Hendrik watched her go, keenly feeling the void she left behind when she disappeared through the door.

_ The Dark Books: Day 25 _

Jade

Jade made the final adjustments to Fisticuffs’ saddle and turned to bid farewell to Hendrik and Beatrice. While she was ready to get back to Heliodor and move onto other activities, she felt a slight twinge of regret and realized she had come to like Beatrice a great deal. “I wish you the all Yggdrasil’s speed on the Royal Library project,” she said.

“Are you certain you dinnae need the escort of Sir Hendrik?” Beatrice asked.

The princess smiled. “Queen Frysabel is sending four of Sniflheim’s finest to accompany me, not that I need it.”

The Drasilian scholar cocked her head. “Aye, I’ve seen you fight, and I’ve no doubt you can defend yourself. But even now it would be foolhardy for anyone to travel alone, particularly a dignitary of your stature.”

“True enough,” Jade conceded. “As for Sir Hendrik, Lord Robert and Prince El want him here. We’re all not a little concerned about what Markus said, even if we’ve seen no evidence to back it up yet.”

As formally as ever, Hendrik said, “I stand ready to do whatever is necessary to protect you and the Royal Library. If you will accept my help, My Lady.”

Beatrice turned to him, frowning. “On one condition,” she said, a note of command in her voice.

“My Lady?”

“You must call me Beatrice.”

Hendrik froze for a split second. “Of—of course, My Lady Beatrice,” he said.

The scholar’s eyes narrowed. “ _Just_ Beatrice. I claim no titles of nobility, nor would I wish to. And there are plenty who’ll tell you I’m no lady.”

“I see. Yes. Yes of course My—Beatrice.”

She nodded once, curtly, the loose curls around her face bouncing. “Right. Now that that’s out of the way, Princess Jade has places to be, and so do I.”

Yes, Jade thought, it would be good for Hendrik to have to stay in Beatrice’s company. She might just loosen him up a little. Hiding a delighted smile, she swung up onto Fisticuffs’ back and adjusted her riding cloak around her. She reached a hand down to Beatrice, who took it. “Be safe, dear Beatrice,” she said.

“And you,” the scholar replied with a rich warmth.

Beatrice

That afternoon, when the volunteers took their break, Beatrice set aside her quill and made her way outside after them into the crisp air. She stood in the sunlight and closed her eyes, drinking in the scent of evergreen, reveling in the cold on her nose and lips. She had not felt this peaceful in a month.

An unfamiliar sound drifted to her ears and she turned toward it, hardly believing what she was hearing. Across the land bridge, Lars and Hendrik were sparring with wooden blades, as they did each afternoon, and Hendrik was _laughing_. She thought back over the last several weeks, through all the festive dinner parties. She had seen his subtle, lopsided smile, though that was rare enough, but had she not once heard him laugh?

Beatrice’s heart ached. She knew the reputation of the Hero of Heliodor, he whose undying loyalty, unwavering service, and unmatched honor had led him to save countless lives and help restore peace to all of Erdrea. She had experienced the level of formality he kept in all his interactions, as befitting a one with such honor. But she had also seen in him a sadness that she wondered if even he was aware of. The storyteller and scholar in her wanted to know why, to plumb the depths of his mind and heart, to solve him like a puzzle. The survivor in her recognized the pain he kept at bay so that it could not slow him down—it called to her and she wanted to answer. Now, to hear him so free and easy as to actually laugh filled her with an inexplicable joy.

Joy…and something else. As she watched him move in the sunlight with a grace seemingly impossible considering his imposing size, she could not deny her attraction to him. It had begun simply, more as gratitude for his respectful distance after Markus’ assault. He had been for her a kind of shield—his presence, even the thought of him, made her feel safe and protected. But as the days and weeks had passed, and she had felt less and less the need for that kind of reassurance, she began to notice the man himself, rather than what he represented. The shape of his powerful arms and narrow hips, the way his chest rippled beneath his tunic, the one defiant forelock that kept drawing her eyes down to the curve of his lower lip perched tantalizingly above his perfectly-groomed beard. Dear Yggdrasil, she’d lost count of the number of times she’d found herself staring at that perfect lip, wanting to catch it between her teeth, to taste it, taste him and— _Ach! Enough!_

It did not matter anyway. The man barely looked at her, and their direct conversation had been reduced to brief snippets about the library project except at Frysabel’s dinner parties, where he said almost nothing. Yet here he was in the sunshine, sparring and laughing with Lars, and Beatrice simply could not deny a twinge of sorrow that he could not be at such ease with her.


	6. Chapter 6

_ The Dark Books: Day 25 _

Beatrice

At dinner that evening, Queen Frysabel broke the news that they would be welcoming the first of a fresh cadre of volunteers for the library project the next morning. “Word has gotten out about what Beatrice is doing here,” she explained to Hendrik, her porcelain cheeks pink with pleasure. “We’ve had inquiries from the libraries at Hotto and Gallopolis, and from several other cities. Not only from scholars, but from amateur book enthusiasts wanting to help in cataloging the collection.”

Beatrice beamed. “And not a moment too soon! I’m sure the lovely folks of Sniflheim are more than ready for a break. They’ve done such a marvelous job so far. And we’re no closer to finding those books Markus swore were up in that building somewhere. Maybe a fresh set of eyes would be helpful.” She popped the last bite of her bread into her mouth.

“I can imagine it would also be a great boon to have more scholars to assist you in the cataloguing,” Hendrik added.

“Ach, aye. You’ve no idea,” she said, turning to the knight. As soon as her eyes met his, he glanced down and reached to refill his water. She pushed aside the feeling of disappointment at his inattention. “If I had my way,” she said, “I’d compel all the highest scholars of Erdrea to spend a year here with me. I cannae begin to imagine the wealth of information that’s been overlooked and forgotten these past decades. Longer, even, considering how poorly organized most of the place is.”

Hendrik said, “Sir Jasper studied there as a youth. He spoke of it with great reverence. I do not recall him saying anything about it being disorganized at the time.”

There was something in Hendrik’s tone when he spoke of Jasper. Something that evoked both warm regard and deep regret. Was it only nostalgia? Or was there more to it? “Perhaps it’s only since the rise of the Lord of Shadows that it’s gone to chaos,” she replied.

“The Special Collection isn’t bad,” Krystalinda said. “I would know. I spent a great deal of time there.” The queen raised an eyebrow and shot her a look of mock-exasperation.

Beatrice had no idea what that was about, so ignored it. “Aye, that and there are several sections on the fourth level that are in decent order. But I know there’s a better way to make all this knowledge accessible.”

Frysabel said, “Well, a few scholars are better than none.”

Beatrice laughed. “You speak truth, Your Majesty! I’ll take what I can get.” She rose to her feet. “As always, it was a delightful meal. I think I’ll retire for the evening.”

“Are you quite well?” asked Krystalinda. “You’re usually one of the last of us to be ready to turn in.”

“It’s odd…or maybe it’s good, but I’m feeling the need for solitude for the first time since the attack on the library. I think I’ll just curl up with a good—ach for fuck’s sake.” Beatrice slapped her forehead and plopped back into her seat. “Never mind. I left my book in the library of all places.”

Krystalinda chuckled. “How appropriate.”

Hendrik said, “Would you like me to ride out for it?”

“Sir Hendrik, you are no errand boy, I dinnae care how strong your commitment to service is. But I’ll ride out if you’d be willing to accompany me.”

Hendrik nodded. “It would be my duty and my honor, My—Beatrice.”

Beatrice

The sun had long since set and the moon had not yet risen, leaving the tree-lined paths of the Snærfelt deep in shadow. Above the trees, the aurora blinked in muted colors, casting just enough light for them to see by, though Beatrice trusted the horses’ instincts to get them to the library, rather than her own eyes. Despite the recent attack, she did not worry about hostile creatures in the forest around Sniflheim—those monsters had been amassed by Markus for a specific purpose from who-knows-where. There had been no evidence of any other evil in the area for months now. And even the wolves and the occasional bear that roamed these lands were far more likely to keep to themselves than attack a human. Still, she would not have ridden out alone, and was glad to have Hendrik beside her.

The outline of the massive library loomed against a backdrop of the aurora and a thousand stars. Beatrice dismounted and unlocked the great entrance door, slipping into the hall and striking a flame to the lantern that hung just within. Hendrik followed after and pulled the door closed behind them to block the chill breeze. They walked the series of staircases and alcoves in silence, as if the books themselves were asleep and not to be disturbed.

“I love the way this room holds its warmth,” Beatrice said finally as they crossed into the Special Collection. Coals still glowed on the hearth from the fire that had burned there all day.

“It is a splendid chamber,” Hendrik said. “It seems to have been designed as almost a sanctuary.”

“Mmm,” Beatrice replied, sliding her book from the center table. “That it has been for me. And thanks to you, it is again.”

Hendrik nodded. “I am glad, My— _Beatrice_.” He gave a rueful smile. “I am sorry. I do not know why that is so difficult for me.”

“Ach, Sir Hendrik, you’ve spent decades cultivating the art of formality. It isnae surprising you would have to work to do otherwise. But I appreciate your trying.”

“Of course. Shall we return to the palace?”

Beatrice nodded and they retraced their steps to the front entrance. As they reached the horses, she stopped and put a hand up.

“What is it?”

“Look there, to the east at the tree line.” She pointed to where a pale glow outlined the tops of the trees. “The moon is about to rise. Ach, Sir Hendrik, you dinnae want to miss this. Come.” She beckoned him on and strode out across the land bridge to the open field.

Beside her, Hendrik peered up. “I have seen the moon rise more times than I can count,” he said. “Is there something different about it here?”

She nodded. “Aye. But you’re looking in the wrong place,” she said. “Dinnae look up at the moon. Look down. At the snow.”

All around them, the ground lay purple-blue, fading into the blackness of the forest’s edge, with smudges of pale pink and green giving the illusion of movement across the expanse. Then the gibbous moon crested the eastern hills and bathed the ground in a hard, white light.

All at once, the snow burst forth with sparkling brilliance, as if thousands upon thousands of diamonds had been spilled across the landscape. Beatrice felt a thrill run through her at the sight, and beside her, she heard a soft, indrawn breath and knew Hendrik was as taken as she. “I never grow tired of this,” she said. “Though there are lots of things I dinnae like about this snowy clime, _this…_ this is something I’ll keep with me forever.”

“Truly it is astonishing,” Hendrik said, his voice reverent.

Silence fell as they watched the shadows of the trees recede before the rising moon and drank in the twinkling visage. Beatrice was keenly aware of his proximity, and of the fact that they were alone. She gathered her courage and said, “Sir Hendrik, may I ask you a question?”

“By all means,” he replied with his usual neutral tone.

She took a breath. “Why will you nae look at me?”

He did not respond, and a part of her just wanted to drop it. _Never mind. Sorry I asked_. But against her will, her mouth kept going. “Almost every time I look at you, you lower your eyes. Or bow your head. Or find something else to occupy you. I cannae think of more than a handful of times I havnae seen your eyes from some kind of angle. And I cannae think of why someone as proud and noble as you would be unable to look someone like me in the eye.” She held her breath, suddenly wondering if she really wanted to hear the reason.

Another moment passed, but this time, Beatrice forced herself to wait. At last, Hendrik spoke.

“I…I am ashamed.”

Beatrice waited, staring at the snow.

“I am a man, and I am ashamed of what men do, of what a man did to you. You are a woman deserving of respect, and I do not wish you to feel you are being looked down upon.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Hendrik went on.

“And…I am afraid. I am afraid that if I look at you…that I will look at you not as a knight protector, but _as_ a man. And it would bring me great pain to think I caused you to feel threatened, to have someone look at you in…in that way…so soon after…”

Beatrice fingered a loose strand of her hair, and sighed. “Ach, Sir Hendrik, you’re a damn fool.”

“I…what?”

“Your eyes…” She struggled with the words. “It’s your eyes that saved me.”

Hendrik waited as she gathered her thoughts.

“In those first days after Markus tortured me, every time I closed my eyes I would see his. Cold, cruel, and inches from my face just as they were that day. The panic would rise in my chest, and I wouldnae be able to breathe, and I would have to open them again so I didnae scream. I hardly slept, and when I was awake, I was afraid.” She hugged her cloak more tightly around her, trying to block the memory.

“But then I remembered that moment just before I lost consciousness. I remembered _your_ eyes, gentle and kind, and I felt safe. Truly safe, for the first time since. After that, when I would close my eyes and see his, I would force myself to stay calm. To push him out of my mind, and concentrate on seeing your eyes instead. And before long, whenever I closed my eyes, I wouldnae see his anymore, but yours. As if you had chased him out of my head.

“But the only place I ever saw those eyes was in my own mind, never in the flesh, except for now and then a brief glimpse. And the more you turned away from me…the more I wanted to see them, not so that I could feel safe, but…but so that…” Dear Yggdrasil, did she really want to risk telling him the truth? “So that you could see how much I _wanted_ you to look at me…that way.”

Another silence fell and when Hendrik did not respond, Beatrice began to feel a little of the old panic begin to creep into her chest.

“I am…so sorry. I had no idea. I thought…I did not want…”

“Sir Hendrik, look at me.” Beatrice turned toward him, chin pointed upward, unruly curls gathering around her face in the evening breeze. “I want to see your eyes.”

He looked down into her upturned face, the moonlight illuminating them both. His eyes were soft and warm, reflecting the sparkling snow, a rich blue-green made richer by the blue light of night. They drew her in until she was lost in them.

“Beatrice,” he said, sounding as hesitant as he had that first morning, as if he might frighten her off like a wild rabbit, “may I…touch you?”

“You may,” she said.

Hendrik slid his fingers into the hair around her face and brushed away the wayward curls with his thumbs. He leaned down and she closed her eyes as his lips found hers, and her body surged with fire. She wove her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled herself toward him, deepening their kiss. Suddenly he was crushing her in his enormous arms, his lips roving from her mouth down the side of her neck to her throat. A low moan escaped her and she arched into him, reveling in the hardness of his chest, the strength of his arms. His mouth covered hers again and again and at length she drew back, looking into his eyes.

“We’ll catch our death of cold out here,” she said. “But I know someplace warm.” He released her and she caught hold of his hand, pulling him back to the library.

It seemed to take forever to make their way up to the inner sanctum, when at every switch, Hendrik swept Beatrice back up into an embrace and kissed her for long moments. At last they reached the round chamber and Beatrice activated the switch sealing them away while Hendrik uncovered the fire and added a log.

They peeled off gloves, kicked off boots and threw hose into a corner before Beatrice pried away Hendrik’s belt. She pulled his tunic and shirt over his head, sliding her soft hands over his bare chest, and down over his hips. She ran a finger over that perfect lower lip that she had so longed for, then tiptoed to capture it in her teeth, sucking on it gently before tasting his mouth with her tongue.

He returned the kiss and lifted her onto the table, leaning her back with one arm while the fingers of his other hand found their way into the laces of her bodice. He drew them apart and slid the garment down over her shoulders to rest around her waist. She threw her head back and inhaled sharply as his lips brushed across her throat and down into the hollow between her breasts before his tongue tasted her nipple. She arched again, moaning, and wrapped her legs around his waist, snaking her fingers through his hair.

He leaned in, and she could feel his hardness between her legs, sending shivers through her belly. Slowly he moved over her and she mewled with pleasure, feeling her thighs begin to tremble.

She planted her hands on his chest to push him away, and he stood upright drawing her back to a stand, giving her the right of way. She kissed his chest, sliding her hands down his back and over his bum, curling her fingers into his thighs. A moment later, she began unlacing his breeches with one hand, while reaching down with the other to stroke his manhood through the coarse fabric. A deep sigh escaped him, and he ducked to kiss her again, his tongue caressing the inside of her mouth.

His trousers dropped to the marble floor and he kicked them away, and stood before her in all his glorious nakedness. She stepped back to admire him, still running her fingers lightly across his chest. Dear Yggdrasil he was breathtaking; she trembled at the sight of him.

His fingers brushed down from her shoulders, over her breasts and stomach, to slide into the waistband of her voluminous skirt. She laid her hands over his, guiding them to the complex system of laces and hooks that held the mass of muslin and wool around her. At last, both that garment and her blouse fell away and they stood before one another like the first humans, as Yggdrasil intended.

Hendrik seemed transfixed for a time, as if content to simply look at her. But then their eyes met, and it was as though that contact unleashed something in him. He reached for her, hungrily, drawing her into a crushing embrace, kissing her with increasing urgency, lips and tongue covering her body, hands roving over warm skin.

She responded in kind, digging her fingernails into his back, kissing his neck, his chest. He lifted her back onto the table and she opened herself to him, leaning back on one hand while pulling him closer with the other. Then her hand slid down his chest and between his legs, stroking him until he groaned, and drawing him into her.

Beatrice cried out at the moment of entry, feeling as though her heart must be visibly straining through her chest. Hendrik leaned her back, moving in her slowly, his hands stroking her breasts, stomach and hips as he went. His arms encircled her back and he stood, lifting her to him, the weight of her body driving him deep inside her, drawing a shout from her lips.

She dug her thighs into his hips and seized the hair at the nape of his neck, forcing his head back as she lifted herself, sliding up his shaft.

“Sweet Yggdrasil,” he whispered.

She slid back down, fastening her lips on the soft skin under his ear as she lifted herself again, controlling the speed of their connection, slowly at first, and then with rising urgency.

Hendrik kept one arm solidly behind her back, but his other found its way to the space between them, powerful fingers brushing the silken strands between her legs. He found the center of her pleasure and teased it until she was as hard as he was, wresting louder and louder wails from her throat. Now she was quivering, her thighs shaking so uncontrollably she could not hold on. Hendrik seemed to sense the shift in her strength and laid her back on the table, suddenly quickening to a frantic pace, slamming his hips into her again and again. She moaned, loud and deep in her throat as the roughness of his body continued to rub against her hardened pleasure with each thrust.

Then all at once, she felt the sharp contraction of her release, sending cascading waves of ecstasy through her belly and thighs. She screamed, a guttural, animal sound, which drew from Hendrik a groan of pleasure and then he, too, erupted with his climax, and dropped forward onto her chest, his hair falling forward over them both. He drew deep, ragged breaths, as he convulsed within her, and she encircled his head with her arms, tracing her fingers through his soft locks.

Presently, he shuddered and withdrew, lifting his head and kissing her gently on the mouth. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. Beatrice stood motionless, content to be held, to hear the sound of his breath, to feel his heart beating against her cheek.

“Ach, Sir Hendrik,” she said at last, “promise me that won’t be the last time we do that.”

She felt as much as heard his deep voice resonating through him. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” she murmured into him.

He pulled back and looked down into her eyes. “Call me Hendrik,” he said, a lopsided grin sliding across his features. “Just Hendrik.”

Beatrice laughed before disentangling herself from him and spreading both their winter cloaks before the fire. He offered her his shirt with which to clean herself up, and they lay down together in the warmth of the blaze, she with her body spooned into his, he with his head resting on one arm, his other hand tracing soft patterns on the skin of her shoulder and arm.

“Dear Yggdrasil,” she said with a contented sigh. “I havnae had sex like that in years.”

“I am glad to know you enjoyed it.”

“Are you daft? I think they could hear at the palace how much I enjoyed it!”

Hendrik laughed, that rare and mesmerizing sound. Not the hearty laugh she had heard when he was sparring with Lars, but a warm, embracing one. She could certainly get used to that.

“You, on the other hand, were awfully quiet,” Beatrice said, “and not because you didnae enjoy it, I’ll lay odds.” She rolled toward him, a teasing twinkle in her chestnut eyes. “I suppose the great hero of Heliodor must remain in complete control at all times, whether on the battlefield or in the sheets.”

He gave a half nod, his expression conceding the point. “I do not have the luxury of losing control. People would get hurt.”

“You just tell yourself that, Lad,” she said, running a finger over his collar bone. “But the next time I’m going to want more from you.” She pulled him down to her and kissed him. “Ach, Hendrik,” she said.

“My Beatrice,” he replied, and crushed her in his arms again.


	7. Chapter 7

_ The Dark Books: Day 26 _

Elvan

The moon had begun its descent by the time they slipped back into the palace. The night guard greeted them without expression, opening the door from the outer courtyard into the warmth of the interior.

Hendrik walked Beatrice to her chamber door, bending to kiss her goodnight. He made to pull away, but she reached for him, causing him to linger, and a full minute passed before she finally relinquished him. “Good night,” she whispered.

“Good night.” He waited until she closed the door behind her and he heard the sound of the latch, then turned and strode the long hallway to disappear around the corner.

A rustle of drapery heralded the appearance of one of the palace maids, a girl with white-blonde braids beneath her cotton cap, and a pert, button nose. She smoothed the front of her apron and allowed a smile to lift her perfectly proportioned cheeks. “Now that’s interesting, isn’t it?” she whispered to herself, then slipped down the hall in the opposite direction of Hendrik.

Markus

Markus’ sharply-honed paranoia alerted him to the light step in the hall outside his cell and he rolled to a stand, prepared for whatever might walk through the door. When the maid appeared, his body relaxed visibly. “It’s about damn time, Elvan.”

The girl wagged a finger at him. “Don’t act like you don’t belong in that cell. The master thought it was an appropriate punishment for your egregious mishandling of the library attack.”

Markus made a rude gesture. “Not that you helped any.” He kicked at the straw on the floor. “So, what, you’ve just come down here to gloat?”

“Actually, no.” She ran a hand along the metal bars. “I’ve just heard from the master that you’re being given another chance. The other plan this time. The one we all thought would _actually_ work.”

“So you _are_ just here to gloat.”

The young maid pulled a disgusted face, and dropped the bag she was holding to the floor. “Unfortunately, in order to get you out of here without anyone noticing, I drew the short straw.” She pulled her cap from her head, then began removing her apron.

“I think this is the only time I’m ever actually going to enjoy this,” Markus said.

Elvan moved on to the laces on the front of her dress, shrugging the garment down over her shoulders and letting it pool around her feet. She unlaced the underskirt and pushed it down along with her hose, finally kicking the entire pile to one side and standing again.

“ _Yggdrasil,_ I was wrong,” Markus muttered. “I can’t even bring myself to leer knowing it’s you.”

Elvan shook her head before unhinging her mandible and allowing her lower jaw to drop, slack, to her neck. Two translucent fangs, each over an inch in length, folded down from the roof of her mouth. She glared expectantly at Markus, who sighed and pulled up a sleeve, proffering his arm through the bars of the cell.

He braced, willing himself not to react as the needle-sharp teeth sank a full half inch into his forearm and began drawing forth blood. He could see it, dark, flowing through Elvan’s straw-like protrusions, and held back a shudder. Though a witness to this process a dozen times, he had never actually participated.

The fangs withdrew, eliciting a grimace of disgust from Markus. He pulled his arm back against his body and held his hand over the still-bleeding pinpricks, putting pressure on the wound. “Why do I get the feeling you enjoyed that more than usual?”

Elvan could not speak with her jaw still hanging, but graced him with a smug expression. As Marcus watched, the girl began to expand in front of him, her skin tightening as her head and body grew in size and changed in shape. Soon, the skin ruptured in places, peeling back to reveal darker, rougher skin beneath. She reached up and pulled away her hair, dropping it into a bloody pile on top of the clothing. A completely new person emerged in a haze of blood and fluid from the old. Six-one with a strong chest and narrow hips, thick, dark blonde hair worn wild and partially woven with braids, and a shaggy, unkempt beard.

Markus now stood face to face with Markus.

“ _Yggdrasil_ , that’s disgusting,” he said.

“You’re disgusting.” Elvan looked down at the oozing remains of the body he had just been wearing. “I’m going to miss that one,” he said. “I had such naughty fun with it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Markus growled, “do _not_ even _think_ about doing anything untoward with mine!”

Elvan rolled his new eyes. “The thought makes even _me_ nauseous,” he said, then extended his hand to Markus and made a short, sharp beckoning gesture.

Markus scowled. “Privacy, if you don’t mind.”

The new Markus picked up the bag and shoved it through the bars, then turned his back. “Prude,” he said.

While Markus undressed, Elvan rattled on. “There are scissors in the bag, and a razor. You’ll have to let go of the wild Viking look you think is so sexy in order to get out of here. That’s a guardsman’s uniform in there—I had to guess on the size, but I think I’m right. I’m pretty good at estimating by now. You’ll need to take everything in this pile out somewhere and burn it—”

“Ugh. I am not carrying that stinking, bloody…” he rolled his eyes in resignation. “And you said you were the one who drew the short straw.”

“Oh, come on, for whatever reason, the Master still thinks you’re the better choice to move forward on this, while I’m the one who has to sit in a prison cell and pretend to be you.”

Markus shrugged. “It’s not so bad. It’s warm, the straw’s clean, and the food’s actually pretty good. Queen Frysabel is far nicer to me than Hendrik would prefer.” He spat Hendrik’s name, rage flashing through his chest.

Elvan laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry, Markus. Hendrik is going to get his.”

Beatrice

Just after eight the next morning, Beatrice padded into the palace kitchens, where Master Chef Zephyr was adding Costa Valorian peppercorns and sea salt to a large skillet of eggs. “Good morning, Master Zephyr,” she said. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but have you seen Birgen this morning? I’m in a wee bit of a hurry.”

The normally jovial mountain of a man frowned. “I wish I had. You’re not the only person she serves and Lady Felicia is in quite a snit over not receiving her morning remedy.”

Beatrice gave a conciliatory smile. “Lady Felicia is always in a snit over something, and if she cannae drink without getting a hangover, that’s hardly Birgen’s responsibility.”

“But it _is_ her responsibility to bring you your breakfast at half seven without fail,” he boomed. His expression of anger suddenly shifted, and Beatrice could see the concern that underlay the chef’s response.

“I agree that this isnae like her at all,” Beatrice said in response to what the chef hadn’t said. She adopted a lighter tone and added, “Well, she’s young, and I heard a rumor she might be carrying on with young Nils from the stables. Perhaps she’s just lost track of time.” She thought of last night in the inner sanctum and suppressed an indulgent sigh.

Zephyr stirred the eggs. “In any case, your tray is still right there,” he nodded with his head to a covered shape at the end of the counter. “The tea might be cold.”

“Ach, I’ll survive. I just need some sustenance for the work day. I’m late getting moving this morning.” She slid the platter off the marble surface and carried it to the door, pausing to thank the chef for his wonderful work in Sniflheim palace. Truly the food here was exemplary.

Hendrik met her at her door and opened it for her so that she did not have to set the tray down on the table in the hall. “Where is Birgen this morning?” he asked.

“I dinnae know, and neither does Zephyr.”

“Is that not uncharacteristic of her?”

Beatrice grimaced. “Aye, but hopefully nothing more than a youthful indiscretion.”

Hendrik closed the door behind them, and as soon as Beatrice set down the tray, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her, long and ardently. Her body melted into his, her thumb brushing along his bearded jawline. The strength of his arms around her made her feel at once entirely held and wildly liberated, and she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day there.

At length they parted, and Beatrice reluctantly stepped back from him. She dropped into the chair by her breakfast tray. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, and drew the linen towel aside, revealing half a loaf of hearty rye bread, a plate of prim brunost, and a dish of lingonberry jam. “Ach, that man gives me so much food every morning,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

Hendrik drew a second chair to the table and joined her. “I have eaten my fill,” he said. “You go ahead. And, yes, I did sleep well. Did you?”

“Like the dead,” she replied. “When I woke this morning I could have sworn I was still in the library.” She flashed him a smile as she spread a generous portion of brunost on a slice of bread.

“I, too, found myself…disoriented.”

Beatrice had not seen him look so relaxed in the weeks she’d known him. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to reorient ourselves for the time being. If I dinnae get up to that library soon, Lars is going to come looking for me.” She drizzled the jam across the cheese and took a large bite.

Hendrik poured out a cup of tea and offered it to her. It was lukewarm, as expected, but sufficient to wash down the bread.

“You’re sure you willnae have any?” she asked.

“Just some tea,” he said, and poured himself a cup.

“It’s cold,” she warned him, and took another bite.

Hendrik did not seem to mind, rather appearing content just to be in her company. But as she finished the last morsel and reached for her napkin, he caught her hand in his and raised it to his mouth, licking the traces of lingonberry from her fingers.

Beatrice moaned, her eyes closing in rapture, and allowed him to pull her into his arms again. After another long, slow kiss he said, “Shall we go to the library?”

She dropped her forehead onto his chest and laughed. “Only to work,” she said. “At least for now.”


	8. Chapter 8

_ The Dark Books: Day 29 _

Beatrice

Three days later, Beatrice tapped her quill into the bowl on the table only to find she’d run out of ink. “Ach, I didnae think to bring any more up with me this morning,” she muttered.

“What’s that?” asked Lars, looking up from the book he’d been scanning.

“Lad, I think I’m losing my wits. I knew I was low on ink but it didnae even cross my mind to get more. I hate to ask you to go all that way, but could you get another half a dozen bottles from Ingrid in town? You can take Buckram.”

Lars’ eyes lit up. “Honestly? You think he’ll let me ride him by myself?”

Beatrice laughed. “Lad, you take such good care of that horse, he thinks you’re his mother. He’llnae give you any trouble. Tell Ingrid it’s for me and she’ll put it on the palace account.”

“Yes Ma’am!” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He turned and tripped from the room.

Not a moment later, she heard him scream.

“Dear Yggdrasil! Lars!” Beatrice flew from the inner sanctum to find Lars brandishing his small sword at the professaurus that towered over him at the far end of the bridge.

“Run, Beatrice!” Lars shrieked. “Close the sanctum!”

“Wait!” the scholar yelled, running to him. “Put your sword down, Lad! Put it down!”

The professaurus stood frozen, a look of terror on his face as he gaped at the adolescent a third his size. The two people who accompanied the dragon were similarly transfixed, until Hendrik rounded onto the span and strode through them, jostling them as he went.

“Be at peace, Lars,” Hendrik said, putting a strong hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This dragon bears you no ill. He is among the new volunteers.”

Lars lowered his weapon and took a step back. He turned to his mistress. Beatrice’s heart nearly broke for the boy—his face was a mix of such terror and humiliation. She could see he was struggling mightily not to burst into tears. “Right,” she said, reassuring him with her eyes. “Go quick. Fetch me the ink. Take all the time you need.” He nodded, short and sharp, and dashed away without looking at anyone.

As soon as he disappeared down the stairs, Beatrice glanced up at Hendrik. “Can you check on him?” she asked. The knight nodded, a grim smile on his face, and turned back to follow the boy.

Beatrice approached the obviously-confused gathering of one man, one woman, and one dragon at the end of the bridge. “Ach, you’ll forgive my assistant,” she said. “He was not long ago attacked by a professaurus in almost this very spot. You cannae blame him for his reaction. And I hope you can forgive him for any upset he caused all of you.”

“Oh, oh dear,” said the dragon, pulling at his whiskers, “I feel just terrible.”

Beatrice took his hands and smiled warmly into his lofty eyes. “Dinnae let it trouble you. It wasnae anything to do with you personally, nor truly with any of your kind. Be welcome here. I am so grateful to you for your willingness to come and help with this project.” She turned her attention to the others. “To all of you. Come, join me in the Special Collection.”

The little party moved across the bridge into the circular chamber. Introductions were made. The dragon was called Sesquipedalian, or Sesqui for short. He was an amateur bibliophile originally from the Gallopolis region who had heard about the restoration of the Royal Library of Sniflheim from his mother, a teacher at L'Academie de Notre Maitre les Medailles.

From Hotto had come Shinobu, a shy but eager young woman who had been studying under Mistress Aoi at the Hotto Toshokan. Not much taller than Lars, she wore the traditional patterned clothing of her people, and her long, dark hair was held back by red leather headband adorned with an enamel lily. She greeted Beatrice with a deep bow.

Beatrice bowed in response. “And how is Mistress Aoi?” she asked. “Well, I hope?”

Shinobu said, “Yes, she is quite well.  
She speaks highly of your work,  
and sends her regards.”

Beatrice nodded. “I learned so much from her when I studied at the Toshokan. Ach, has it been sixteen years already? Nearly seventeen?”

Shinobu continued. “Mistress Aoi  
says I shall learn much from you  
working in this place.”

“I’m certain I’ll learn a great deal from you, too.” Beatrice turned to the last of the new arrivals. “And who is this, now?” she said by way of greeting.

The man looked to be close to her own age, with close-cropped dark hair just beginning to grey at the temple, a strong jaw, and a neat goatee framing a bow of a mouth. Under his heavy cloak he wore the casual, lightweight clothing of Puerto Valor, though his skin lacked the distinctive bronze color of the natives of that clime. He was not unattractive, save for the bizarre glasses perched on his nose. They had thick lenses that curved around the sides of his eyes and were colored a deep blue, giving him the look of some strange bird. He leaned heavily on a cane with his left hand, and reached out his right to greet her.

“Cedric of Dundrasil,” he replied. The sound of the familiar brogue was music to Beatrice’s ears and she beamed at him.

“Ach! A kinsman! What a true delight!”

The man beamed in kind. “Aye, it’s been some time since I’ve been in the company of a Drasilian lass,” he said.

She nodded, recognizing that need to connect with what was lost. “What brings you to the Royal Library?” she asked.

“I make my living as an antiques dealer in Puerto Valor. Not long ago I came into possession of some old books and I admit I’ve become fascinated with them. So much so that I want to dedicate a line of my work to books. But, of course, I cannae begin to do so without a proper grounding in the field. The director of the Biblioteca de Puerto Valor told me of your project, and I thought, what better way to learn everything about ancient books than to immerse myself in service to someone like you?”

Beatrice nodded. “Señor Valdez is an old friend,” she said. “I have often consulted him when researching Valorian literature.”

“He speaks most highly of you,” Cedric said. “And when I heard you were Drasilian! Well, I couldnae help but set out immediately.”

“Well, now,” Beatrice said, sweeping the three of them with a smile, “I’m so grateful to you for your willingness to be here. I trust you’ve all found acceptable accommodations in Sniflheim?” They nodded in assent, and Beatrice continued. “Wonderful. If it’s as well with you, I’d love to put you right to work.” Just as she had with the other volunteers who had trickled in to Sniflheim over the past few days, Beatrice described in detail the seven books for which they were to seek as their top priority.

When she had finished, Cedric said, “If you dinnae mind my asking, what’s so important about these particular books in a library that must contain thousands of precious texts?”

Beatrice measured her words. “I have heard a rumor that they have some kind of magic to them, and may be useful to this project going forward.” It has a half-truth, but there was no purpose in generating any sort of fear or other ill feeling about them.

“Magic?” asked Sequi. “How exciting!”

Shinobu frowned. “Mistress Aoi  
says that you can hear books speak.  
Why not search yourself?”

The Drasilian scholar cocked her head, thoughtful. “It disnae quite work that way,” she said. “Books speak to me when I read them. I feel connected to the author, can sense information about the book and the writer that isn’t actually recorded in the text. It’s helped me to find connections between volumes from the same period, and I’m sometimes able to corroborate what I’ve heard from the book through other sources, so I trust it.”

Cedric asked, “Have you had experience with books of power?”

Beatrice nodded. “Now and then I’ve come across one. In fact, at the Hotto Toshokan there was an old spell book attributed to Serenica.”

“I heard the story,” Shinobu began,  
that the book called out to you  
as you passed the shelf.”

The professaurus clapped his hands with childlike glee. “Oh, if that’s true, then surely you would be the best person to find these books!”

The memory of that afternoon in the Toshokan filtered up through seventeen years of intense work with hundreds of texts. Had the book called to her from the shelf? Or had Mistress Aoi pointed her towards it? Why could she not recall the details? Possibly her memory had been addled by grief at the time—it would still have been fresh then.

She glanced over at the pile of volumes on the long table, and the lengths of parchment laid out beside them waiting for her to record essential information. Surely finding Markus’ books was a higher priority.

“Ach,” she said finally, “I suppose it cannae hurt to try.” She led the new volunteers back across the bridge and down to the lowest level, giving them a brief tour as they went. She pointed out the few areas on the uppermost floor in which the books seemed to have a semblance of logical order, then indicated where that order seemed to break down on the lower three floors, becoming more chaotic the further they got from the top.

She stopped them at the shelves by the rear entrance, close to where Lars had been working and said, “My assistant has made respectable inroads into this section, so that I know which shelves definitely do _not_ hold any of the books. I’ll start here with those I know have yet to be looked at.” She pulled her gloves on and ran her fingers along the leather spines, closing her eyes and opening her mind.

She thought of it as though she were reading a book in a language she didn’t recognize. At first it would be entirely mystifying, but before long, she would begin to see patterns, recognizable fragments. She would place them into the context of ancient languages she did know, fitting them like puzzle pieces into a larger picture, until meaning, however unclear, began to emerge. So now she was sliding her hands across textured bumps like cobblestone, feeling and listening for patterns, recognizable fragments, anything that struck her as out of place. Back and forth across the first shelf, the second, the third, up and up until the ladder had to be brought, and slid along its track with her on it. She reached the very top of the first set, a full 20 feet above the marble floor, then climbed down. “If it’s in this section, I wouldnae know it,” she said.

“Oh, do continue,” encouraged Sesqui.

A knot of volunteers had begun to gather, probably curious about seeing Beatrice anywhere other than the inner sanctum. She let Cedric fill them in on what was happening, as she tried to maintain a continuity of focus on the task at hand.

She moved to the second set of shelves, another eight-foot width of kaleidoscopic book bindings. She closed her eyes to the colors and shapes, relying on touch, sound, and feeling to convey what it would. After another painstaking hour of work, she had reached the top level of the second shelf.

Back on the floor, she leaned heavily against the ladder. “Ach, this’ll take days,” she said.

A woman from Puerto Valor named Avila smiled. “Perhaps so, but we and the volunteers before us have been searching for weeks and have not found them. So days would be shorter than that.”

“Aye, you’ve a point.”

Barclay, a young Heliodorian scholar, added, “And if what my new friend Shinobu here says about you is true, it might be that you’re the only one who actually _can_ find them. If they’re here at all.”

Beatrice gave a thin smile, surprised at how fatigued she felt. “Well, I think we’re all in need of a break. The palace staff will have our lunch here in a short while. Why don’t we step outside into the fresh air for a time.”

Beatrice

The volunteers milled about in the late morning sunshine, eating steaming meatballs and potatoes from earthenware bowls. The three new arrivals had been quickly welcomed into the group of now about a dozen amateurs and scholars from all over Erdrea, along with another handful of locals who were too committed to the project to have gone back to their jobs in the city. The sound of easy conversation and laughter drifted across the field to where Beatrice stood, observing.

She could see that after just a few days, they were becoming a kind of family; they met every evening in one another’s lodgings and shared meals and stories. She would hear from one or another of them how they had discovered they knew people in common, or had attended the same events. A camaraderie had quickly grown up among them and it showed in their excitement about the library project.

While she was grateful for their enthusiasm, Beatrice felt a twinge of jealousy seeing them bond like brothers and sisters. Or maybe it was still grief after all these years. Did these eager library workers see her as a sort of matriarch, and set her apart? Or did she unconsciously remove herself from them out of a lingering survivor’s guilt?

Perhaps it was for the best. Her first priority was to the library itself, and the works it contained. While she appreciated and enjoyed her volunteer staff, she knew they would come and go, and the completion of the restoration would ultimately be up to her. Books had been her companions, her solace, the only things she could rely on after the fall. Being tasked with the cataloguing of all the knowledge in Erdrea elated her spirit. These ancient texts were her family now.

“What are you thinking about?”

Beatrice smiled at the sound of Hendrik’s voice at her shoulder. “Ach, sentimental drivel,” she said, not turning around. “How is Lars?”

“Nothing a little exercise and some hot chocolate could not cure,” he said. She could hear the indulgence in his voice and wondered about the affection the seasoned knight was developing for the little blonde orphan.

“You are good to him,” she said, surreptitiously taking his hand and stroking the back of it with her thumb. The contact sent a little wave of electricity down her spine.

“Not nearly so good as you have been,” Hendrik said.

Beatrice dropped his hand as a small group of volunteers broke away from the others and approached. Sesqui led the way. “Mistress Beatrice,” he said, “lunch was delicious. You were not wrong about Master Chef Zephyr! But we are all a little anxious to see if you might succeed where others have failed. Do you think we could continue the experiment?”

“Experiment?” The curiosity in Hendrik’s voice was tempered with his usual caution.

Beatrice gestured to the young woman from Hotto. “I have been reminded by the young Shinobu here of a long ago incident in the Hotto Toshokan. Mistress Aoi says I was able to find a book of power when I heard it call to me from the shelf.” She caught Hendrik up on the way she had spent the previous hours. “I suppose it’s worth an attempt.”

“Mmm,” Hendrik replied, noncommittal.

Beatrice knew he was unhappy with her continued insistence on finding Markus’ books, but she would not give up. This was the only way to prevent whatever evil was in the offing, she was certain of that.

Beatrice

Three hours and four bookshelves later, Beatrice slumped in her chair in the inner sanctum. Lars’ big blue eyes stared in concern. “I’m fine, Lad,” she said. “Just spent.” She sighed and took a sip of water. “You wouldnae think it should be so. I’m well used to spending hours concentrating.”

Hendrik said, “It would appear to be a different kind of concentrating.”

“Aye, true enough. Especially since I’ve no real clue what I’m doing.” She chuckled and brushed an unruly curl out of her face. “Ach, I’m done in. Go tell the others to head back to town,” she said to Lars, “then get your supper from Master Zephyr, and off to bed with you.”

“Yes, Beatrice.” The scholar-in-training scampered off to do as he was told, leaving Beatrice and Hendrik in the inner sanctum.

“Alone at last,” Beatrice said with a tired smile. “It feels like months.”

Hendrik sank to the floor, cross-legged. “That it does.” He looked up at her, his blue-green eyes kind. “But I doubt you have the energy to take advantage of such a rare occurrence.”

She laughed, then leaned forward and kissed him, softly and slowly. He reached up, cradling her face in his hands, then drew her down into his lap, where he wrapped her in a strong embrace.

“Ach,” she said, “while my heart is screaming ‘Take me to bed!’ I’m afraid my body is whimpering ‘ _Put_ me to bed!’”

Hendrik huffed, his eyes twinkling. In a single, effortless motion, he rose to his feet and swept her into his arms like a weary child. “There will be time for us here again, once the volunteers have settled in. For now, My Beatrice, take sustenance and sleep.”

“Put me down, you chivalrous oaf,” she said with a wicked grin. “I’m no invalid. I’ll walk to my own horse, thank you.”

He set her on her feet, but held her hand captive, and they walked down the maze-like stairs and out into the late afternoon sun together.


	9. Chapter 9

_ The Dark Books: Day 31 _

Beatrice

Beatrice had worked her way through nearly half of the lowest level by the middle of the third day. She had insisted that the other volunteers continue the search on their own in various other sections of the building. Having an audience was not only disrupting her concentration, but struck her as an egregious waste of resources. Only Lars stayed with her as she moved from shelf to shelf, reaching out with her mind and hands, listening for…she wasn’t even sure what. “I need a break, Lad,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “And lunch. I’m famished.”

Lars slid the book he’d been perusing back onto the shelf. “Master Zephyr said we’d be having raggmunk today.”

“Ach, that man spoils us.”

They wandered off toward the main entrance together, following the sound of the other volunteers heading outside for fresh air and a hearty repast. Just as they were about to cross the threshold, Hendrik met them, his expression grave.

“What is it?” Beatrice asked.

The knight put on a smile and said to Lars, “Go on and eat. I need to speak to Beatrice for a moment.”

“Yes, Sir!” said Lars, and skipped out the door.

The scholar’s stomach twisted as Hendrik’s smile vanished. He gestured toward the nearest staircase and they slipped through the archway to a more secluded spot.

Hendrik kept his voice low. “We found Birgen,” he said, and she knew at once the girl was dead.

“Where?” she asked.

“Buried in a shallow grave not far from the Viking hideout.”

“But Krystalinda—”

Hendrik held up a hand. “We do not think it was the Vikings,” he said. “The Ice Witch assures us that her negotiations with them were successful, and that this is not their doing.”

“But who? Why?”

“Beatrice.” Hendrik’s eyes held an intensity she had not seen since just after the attack on the library. Ice gathered in the pit of her stomach. “She had been violated.” He paused. “Brutally.”

Rage flashed through Beatrice’s chest. “Markus,” she spat.

Hendrik shook his head. “Impossible. He was in the dungeon when she went missing.”

She clenched her fists. “This reeks of him,” she said. “And we know he wasnae acting alone in this. Whoever it is…they must be one of his men.”

Hendrik nodded, his jaw going rigid. “And while Markus may be safely rotting in his cell, this man is still out there.”

“Dear Yggdrasil,” Beatrice breathed, realization dawning. “My volunteers—the women! How do we protect them?” Her mind went into overdrive. “Do I send everyone home? Assign everyone a bodyguard?” She was almost babbling now. “We have to let everyone know right away, figure out how to—”

“Beatrice.” Hendrik caught her hands in his, shaking her slightly. “Do not panic. We will take the necessary precautions to protect everyone.” He lifted her chin. “Including you.”

Beatrice hadn’t even realized how badly she had been trembling, had not even acknowledged her fear for her own safety, had subconsciously refused to admit that weeks later, Markus’ attack still had her rattled. Hendrik’s eyes brought her back again, and she drew a shuddering breath. In that moment, grief overwhelmed her.

“Poor Birgen,” she said, tears welling and spilling down over her cheeks. “Poor, poor girl.”

Hendrik drew her into his arms and held her while she cried.

_ The Dark Books: Day 32 _

Beatrice

Beatrice woke with eyes still swollen from her tears. She cursed her weakness. She had known Birgen only a few months, and saw very little of the girl. Of course she should feel sad at such a tragic loss, but the way this sorrow lodged in her chest struck her as far beyond the realm of normal. Shock, anger, grief—these were to be expected in such a circumstance. But the uncontrolled sobbing, the way she couldn’t keep out images of Markus brutalizing the terrified child, even though she knew it could not have been Markus…

Beside her Hendrik stirred, and for a moment peace stole into her heart. He had stayed with her, tenderly caring for her in her distress, staying sober as she drank herself senseless, and holding her, chastely, as she slept.

She tried to slip out from under his arm without waking him, but the knight was far too seasoned to sleep through the slightest disturbance. When she stood and looked back at him, his eyes were open, regarding her steadily.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” she said, and the sound of her own voice sent throbbing pain through her eyes. “Ach. How much did I drink last night?”

Hendrik raised an eyebrow. “More than I thought possible. Are you in much pain?”

Beatrice scrunched her eyes shut and felt around her cotton mouth with her tongue. “Aye,” she said. “But Zephyr has a remedy for that. He’s forever concocting it for Lady Felicia.” She chuckled, and regretted it. “I suppose this is justice for all the times I’ve disdained her for it.” She pulled a linen robe over her nightgown, wrestling her chaotic curls out of the back and tying them with a thong. “Ach, I must look a sight.”

“Shall I go to Master Zephyr?” Hendrik swung his legs over the side of the bed and brushed his own hair back out of his face. How could the man look so stunning first thing in the morning?

Beatrice shook her head. “This is my own doing, and I’ll take my consequences. I imagine you’ve got plenty ahead of you today with the investigation. I’ll nae keep you. I myself need to get back to the library as soon as I can blink without pain.”

Hendrik stood and stretched, his bare chest rippling. _Dear Yggdrasil!_ Beatrice thought. He asked, “Should you not take a day to rest?”

“I cannae stay here in my own head,” she said. “Best to work. And I need to show the others we’ll nae let this hamper our progress.”

“I understand.” Hendrik pulled a linen shirt over his head. “There will be two soldiers posted at each entrance to the library,” he said, as if already on the job. “Remind the volunteers, especially the women, that they are not to go anywhere alone. Best to stay in groups of three or more.”

She nodded, and regretted that, too, her hand flying to the bridge of her nose. Hendrik’s hand caressed her cheek. “Are you certain?” he asked.

Beatrice covered his hand with her own. “Were I not so bloody hung over, I’d want to spend the whole day in that bed with you. But we’ve neither of us the luxury.” She slid her arms around him and leaned into his powerful chest. Hendrik crushed her to him, kissing her on the top of her tousled head.

Hendrik

Hendrik saw Beatrice off to the library with Lars and one of the queen’s guardsmen, assuring himself they were appropriately accompanied. As soon as they departed, he pushed aside his concern for them, and headed for the dungeon. Queen Frysabel had asked him to assist her captain of the guard with the investigation. Oskar was quite young and inexperienced. He had proven himself capable, particularly following Krystalinda’s rampage, when there was unrest in Sniflheim, but the queen felt he would benefit from Hendrik’s help. Hendrik, for his part, would have insisted anyway, though he was grateful to have been invited so that he did not have to breach protocol.

Oskar met him in the hall outside the cell block. Frysabel’s captain was perhaps six feet tall, with a wiry frame, a shock of white-blonde hair, and clean-shaven face. This last fact, along with his large, wide-set blue eyes gave the illusion of extreme youth. Hendrik knew him to be twenty-four, and also knew the younger man’s thin frame to be deceiving. Oskar had fought like a sabrecat during the battle at the library, taking down more than his share of monsters and coming out of the skirmish with scarcely a scratch on him.

“Since, you know this man,” Oskar said, “perhaps you should take the lead.”

“I knew this man nearly twenty years ago, and he has no love for me. He will only try to provoke me to anger. It will be better for someone he has no knowledge of to interrogate him.”

Oskar nodded, lips set in a grim line. “Understood. Let’s do this.”

Hendrik opened the door and held it for Oskar, who squared his shoulders and strode into the dim chamber, halting with feet planted in a strong stance outside Markus’ cell.

Markus sat on his hay mat, thumbing through a book, a half-eaten slice of rye with prim brunost and lingonberry jam in one hand. He glanced up at the entrance of the solders, boredom writ large on his face, and took a bite of the bread. Giving them an expansive eye roll, he went back to reading the book.

“I’m sorry,” Oskar opened, his strong tenor dripping with acid, “are we interrupting your breakfast?”

Markus set the bread on a nearby plate and licked cream cheese and jam off his fingers. “Is this breakfast? I have no idea what time it is down here. This could be afternoon tea for all I know.”

“It is morning. The morning after we discovered the body of a raped and murdered girl in a shallow grave not far from here.”

The bored expression did not falter. “Is that supposed to shock me?” Markus asked. “Why in Erdrea should I care?”

Oskar scowled. “Because you know who did this,” he said. “And you will tell us, or you will hang for her murder.”

A flicker of uneasiness flashed across his features, so quickly Hendrik barely caught it before the detached expression glazed over his eyes again. He said, “Well I know it wasn’t _me_.”

“Not good enough, Markus.” Oskar leaned forward. “We know you were not working alone when you came here to plunder the library. And considering this crime, we are sure you have at least one ally still here in Sniflheim. Who is he and where is he hiding?”

Markus shifted his eyes to Hendrik and back to Oskar. “I see you’ve brought your heavy along with you. Are you going to have him hit me until I confess?” He picked up the bread again. “Come on, Hendrik. You can come in here and break my ribs again if it makes you feel better about this stupid bimbo. But it won’t help you any. I don’t know who killed her.” He took another bite.

Hendrik did not move, only waited for Oskar to continue.

“She was hardly more than a child,” the captain of the guard said. “Your compatriot, whoever he is, brutalized her. I’m told that’s more your modus operandi, but surely your allies are cut from the same cloth?”

Markus cocked his head, his eyes still heavy-lidded. “Look, I don’t know if you’re trying to make me feel sorry for the girl, or insult me, but it doesn’t change the facts. I do not know who killed your silly little serving girl. Now would you please leave me in peace?”

Hendrik allowed a small smile to play across his lips.

Markus caught it and his eyes narrowed. “What amuses you, old friend?”

“We never said she was a serving girl,” Hendrik replied.

Beatrice

Little waves of grief continued to lap at Beatrice’s heart as she made her way along the third shelf of a new bookcase. At first she grew frustrated by the way it disrupted her concentration. But before long, she realized that the deep emotional stirrings kept drawing her into a kind of fugue state she found distantly familiar. It caused her mind to _unfocus_ , and somehow, it felt…right. She began to embrace it, rather than fight it. Instead of demanding that her mind sense pattern, she opened herself to the chaos that seemed to have been built into the library’s lower level. Each time Birgen’s face came unbidden into her mind’s eye, each time the loss and sorrow swept through her chest, she pulled back from her consciousness, ceding her carefully cultivated control.

It was then that she heard it. A pulse—faint, irregular, like a failing heartbeat. The moment she tried to concentrate, to bring it into focus, it vanished. _That’ll nae work._ She took a series of deep breaths and emptied her mind. Another wave of sorrow hit her, wresting her control, and suddenly the pulse was back. This time, she tried to ignore it, allowed it to be another thread in the nonsensical intertwining of sound, touch, grief, and now a growing excitement. She wasn’t certain whether she was hearing the pulse or feeling it, and that, too, contributed to the dispersion of sense, and so the sound/feeling increased, and lent a syncopated counterpoint to her own heart rhythm.

As she allowed herself to sink deeper, abandoning all control of consciousness, the throbbing took on a victorious quality, as if gloating over its mastery of her. And under that victorious quality—something sinister.

When she first touched it, she recoiled mentally, and at once the call diminished to almost nothing. She willed herself to relax, breathing through her fear, inviting it to be another voice in the silent cacophony. And the moment she embraced her fear, the pulse coalesced into a particular location, and an image flashed into her mind.

Beatrice’s eyes flew open and a strangled exclamation issued from her throat.

Lars jumped. “Beatrice? What is it?”

“I’ve seen it, Lad,” she breathed. “I know where it is.” Turning on her heel, she strode back to a bookcase she’d explored two days prior and rolled the brass ladder all the way to the right. Grasping the edges, palms sweating inside her gloves, she climbed to the shelf fourth from the top. She slid her fingers along the spines, eyes closed again, listening. And then…

Beatrice pulled a single volume from the case. She gripped it in her hand, the pulse now hammering outward from the green cover and up her arm, still in syncopation with her own heartbeat. She took a deep breath, as if she had not been breathing at all these last few minutes, and descended unsteadily from the heights. When she reached the floor, she lost her balance and began to pitch to one side.

Lars, barely five feet tall, caught her in surprisingly strong arms and steadied her. “Please! Sit down,” he said, voice all concern.

She dropped into an overstuffed chair, now clutching the book to her chest, and brought herself back into control with concerted effort. Once she had mastery of her mind and body again, the book went silent. She drew another, shuddering breath, and let it out in a long sigh.

“Is that it?” Lars asked, eyes huge.

“Aye, Lad,” she said. “And no doubt.”

He cocked his head. “But it’s green.”

Beatrice smiled and opened the book. She showed Lars what she had suspected might be true—someone had wrapped a piece of heavy fabric around the original binding to conceal the book’s true identity. She pulled the cloth away to reveal exactly what Markus had described to her.

The narrow volume, no more than a half inch thick, was covered in a fine leather so deeply black that it could only have been dyed by magic. It seemed to generate a patch of impenetrable darkness, limited by the book’s dimensions. Yet despite the entire lack of light, a slightly embossed heptagram could be made out, nearly filling the cover.

Lars let out a soft “whoa,” and reached a gloved hand to stroke the surface of the book. “Did you hear it?” he asked, awestruck.

Beatrice nodded. “Or felt it, perhaps. It was as Shinobu said.”

“But we had already gone over this shelf,” Lars said. “Why didn’t you find it then?”

“I cannae be sure, if I’m honest. But I think I was trying too hard. I had to stop listening in order to hear it.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “And now I feel as though it didnae just call me, but it yelled at me, grabbed me, and tossed me onto the ground.” She chuckled. “I’ll be needing a break after that.”

“Will you try to find the rest after lunch?” Lars asked.

“Ach, no, lad. I think I’ll start with this one and see what I can learn from it.”


	10. Chapter 10

_ The Dark Books: Day 32 _

Beatrice

Fortified with Master Chef Zephyr’s best kroppkakor and half a dram of Drasilian Rivergod to tamp down the last vestiges of her hangover, Beatrice laid the book onto the long table in the inner sanctum. With all the reverence due an ancient and powerful text, she slid her gloved finger beneath the cover and pulled it gently aside.

The pages were of smooth vellum, thicker than parchment, gathered into single quire, folded and stitched to create perhaps 50 pages. As Markus had told her, there was no title, no table of contents, no authorship, no long margin before the body of the text began, not even an indent in the first line. A little thrill ran through her—this text was so ancient as to predate all standard conventions of print. She ran her finger across the page, her eyes drinking in the letters written in a bold hand and clustered along even lines in a style she did not recognize. The language was clearly Erdrean, but some of the glyph forms were altered, making comprehension questionable.

She might have had to set aside her regular methods to locate the book, but now that she had found it, she could bring her formidable skills and unusual talents to bear on wresting meaning from the pages. Mere minutes after her eyes landed on the first page, patterns began to emerge, teasing the edges of her consciousness. Most of letters bore enough resemblance to modern Erdrean to create a framework in which to place other, less obvious analogs. Quickly she found she could read the ancient text with fluency.

“Fascinating,” she murmured. Markus had said the words would be strung together in nonsensical sentences, and now she saw how. Each complete phrase, a couplet marked off by the ancient punctuation of an ink square, contained only words that were anagrams or fragments of anagrams of a single, longer word, which might or might not actually appear in the couplet. The actual syntax of the sentences was technically correct, but the overall meaning was naught but gibberish. Or was it? The phrases seemed to convey meaning in their meaninglessness.

 _Be nigh, rare harbinger, bearing rage in barren grain;  
_ _Regain an angrier age, reign an era, her ire a bane barring being._

The moment she discovered the poetic mechanic, new patterns emerged from the text. Patterns that weren’t actually _in_ the text. Not patterns of letters or words or sentences across the page, but visual patterns that coalesced in her mind. She had a flash of the library itself, it’s circular walls and floors shifting over and through each other, painting a sort of line drawing.

Beatrice inhaled sharply, comprehension dawning. It was a map.

She frowned. A map for what purpose? In the now-clear vision of the library layout, nothing was marked. So was it to help her find something? Or was it simply a connection to the book’s own present location? If she studied it elsewhere, would a different map emerge in her mind? No matter what it was, Beatrice was absolutely confident that she and she alone would be able to wrest meaning from this book. That, in fact, this was her call and her destiny and she, being the greatest scholar in the history of Erdrea would bring her superior intellect to bear and—

A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped, jolting out of her synergy with the text and its strange pull on her.

“I am sorry, Beatrice,” said Hendrik. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Her annoyance at the interruption evaporated with the sound of his voice. She turned and sighed, a tired smile lighting her features. “Ach, I’m afraid that happens quite often when I’m engrossed in my work.” She looked up from beneath her wayward curls into his beautiful eyes and added, “But I cannae think of anyone I would rather have break me out of my concentration.”

“It is late,” Hendrik said. “The volunteers have all gone. I sent Lars with them. He would have gone back earlier for his lessons and dinner, but he had not wanted to leave you.”

Beatrice rubbed her forehead. “Ach, that poor lad. I hope he wasnae too famished.” She stood and stretched, the ache across her lower back testifying to just how long she had been motionless.

“He said you found one of the books. Is this it?”

“Aye. And just as Markus described.” She sighed again, suddenly sliding into a yawn. “I’ve already begun to see patterns in the text beyond what’s written. And I’ve no sense whatsoever of how it would be used in any sort of evil ritual. But I will say that when it reached out to me from the shelf, I sensed a great malice from it.”

Hendrik slipped on a pair of white gloves and picked up the book, tilting it this way and that in the lamplight. “Are you still determined to follow through on this course of action?” His tone was measured, carrying no judgment or opinion, though she knew he had one.

“I am,” she said, and changed the subject. “What from our friend Markus?” she asked.

Hendrik set the book down and pulled off the gloves. “He has confirmed that it was one of his compatriots that murdered Birgen,” he said, and his voice suddenly carried such a weight of sorrow Beatrice could not help but reach out to him. She laid a hand on his arm and met his gaze. How could it be that a man who in his years of soldiering must have seen horrors beyond reckoning, could still feel sadness for yet one more victim? “Beyond that, we have gotten little information as of yet. We have told him, however, that if he is not forthcoming in delivering us the murderer, Queen Frysabel will have no choice but to hang him in the other man’s stead. Markus, as I remember, cares for only himself, and if it comes to it, he will betray his fellow to save his own neck.”

Beatrice nodded, short, sharp. “I’llnae be surprised. No one that cruel cares a whit for another soul.” She reached out a hand to brush aside his one, stubbornly defiant lock, and caressed his cheek.

Hendrik closed his eyes and breathed deeply, leaning into her touch. “It has not been a pleasant day,” he said softly.

Despite her fatigue, her own need for solace recognized his and she found herself hungering for him more than any other sustenance. She stretched onto her toes and laced her fingers behind his neck, kissing him softly, then more deeply as she felt his body curve around hers. He enveloped her in an embrace, one hand behind her head, the other in the small of her back, and she melted into him.

Effortlessly, he lifted her to his waist and she wrapped her legs around him, encircling his neck with her arms, pushing his head back with her ardent kisses. He staggered backwards into the nearest bookcase and she grabbed the shelf behind him, locking him in place as her mouth brushed down along his neck. She nuzzled aside the linen of his shirt and seized the skin above his collar bone in her lips, sucking hard while biting down. He moaned, quiet, deep in his chest, and she pulled away, then pushed her forehead into his and stared into his eyes. “No holding back,” she whispered, voice ragged. “Not this time.”

“My Beatrice,” he breathed, still showing hesitation.

“Let go,” she said. “I’llnae be satisfied with any but all of you.”

He answered by whirling about and pressing her into the wall, kissing her with such ferocity she forgot to breathe for a moment. She unhooked his cloak and belt and let them fall, then slid her hands around him, dragging her fingernails down his back. He groaned, turning again and dropping forward to the floor, holding her in one arm, while stopping their fall with the other. He lowered them both and then crushed her beneath him, lips roving from her mouth to her neck.

She pulled his tunic up over his head, then with passion-fueled strength, pushed him onto his back and sat astride, fevered fingers unlacing his shirt while he reached for the fasteners at her waist. She stayed his hands, pushing them to the floor on either side of his head. He lay still, watching with hooded eyes as she unlaced her own linen shirt then slid it off and dropped it over his face. An ecstatic moan issued from him, then compounded itself when she slid backward along the hardness of his manhood. Her hands pushed up the fabric of his shirt and she latched onto his nipple with her teeth. While she sucked, she worked the binding on his trousers and paused to drag them from beneath him, along with his boots and hose, before moving back up to his chest. She wove her fingers through his, leaning her full weight onto his hands, then pulled her blouse from his eyes with her teeth. Slowly she lowered herself over him, letting her breast dangle just above his lips. His tongue shot out and she pulled away, teasing him, before allowing him to capture her nipple in his mouth. He pulled hard, drawing groans of pleasure from them both.

“More,” she whispered, and bit him on the shoulder. He cried out and began to tremble. Without letting go of his hands, she half stood, swinging her skirts forward and out, so that when she dropped back down, they ballooned away, and now her wetness was directly on his stomach. She slid along his naked body coming to rest on his hardness, and squeezed into his hips with her knees. His trembling increased and she released one of his hands so she could reach down and hold him, stroking while she covered his chest and stomach in kisses and playful nips.

He began to writhe beneath her, his breathing coming in ragged gasps, and she pulled him upright and sank down onto his shaft in a slow, controlled descent, drawing a deep groan from him. She sighed as his manhood jerked within her, sending little spasms of pleasure through her belly. She released his other hand and arched back reveling in the sensation of his fullness entirely inside.

Freed, his hands reached for her, circling her waist, sliding up along her sides to rest on her rib cage while his thumbs caressed her breasts. She mewled with delight, planting her palms on the tops of his thighs and slowly pushing herself upward along him. He cried out as she crashed back down.

He stroked the soft skin of her thighs, resting one hand on her hip while the other he pressed against her belly, dropping a thumb to knead into the center of her pleasure. Her eyes rolled back, legs trembled, and she released catlike wails through her constricted throat. The sound of her vocalizations called forth another moan from him, and she arched, leaning into his thighs again, sliding back up his shaft as he pleasured her. She crashed into him again and he shouted, and the fact of his losing control sent waves of ecstasy through her. Her climax was building fast, the pressure of his fingers drawing her right to the brink. She rose up again and crashed down, letting his answering guttural groan push her to her crest. Gripping into his sides with her knees, she pitched forward, shouting, fingers tearing into his chest as the orgasm exploded through her.

The feeling of her release around him drew a bestial cry and in a single, powerful motion, Hendrik clutched her to him and rolled them over, crushing her beneath him on the marble floor. Demon possessed, he pounded his body into her again and again, seemingly unaware of his strength. She whimpered, then shouted as his maddened thrusting brought her back to the brink.

Once more, twice, then a howl of total abandon ripped from him, drowning out her own scream of joy as they crossed the threshold together, moving in perfect time, then slowing, and slowing, until they lay still, heaving and sweating.

Hendrik rolled to one side, then caressed her cheek with a trembling hand. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

Smiling up at him, she said. “Be at peace. I’mnae breakable, despite your best efforts.” She laughed and felt him relax beside her. He closed his eyes, still panting, and dropped his head onto her chest. She held him, stroking the back of his neck and shoulder, grateful for the trust he had shown her, to have let himself go in her presence. A few moments later, his breathing grew slow and even. Hendrik slept.

Tears welled in Beatrice’s eyes. She had been so terribly lonely for so long, had come to believe it was what she wanted, that it was better this way. And then this man had suddenly shown up, this dear man whose deeply buried sorrow had called out to her own, whose consummate self-control mirrored her intense need to be in command of her surroundings and emotions. Had it not been a moment of crisis that had brought them together, would they have even begun to suspect how much they needed each other?

 _Dear Yggdrasil,_ she thought, the tears spilling over, _can it be that I’m falling in love again? After all this time?_


	11. Chapter 11

_ The Dark Books: Day 33 _

Beatrice

The lantern light flickered, casting dancing shadows over the surface of the page where Beatrice’s gloved finger touched. She would have cursed the distraction caused by a faulty wick, except the text had drawn her in so entirely she was no longer aware of her surroundings at all.

_Ancient voices rant on in conversation, as octaves stare scorn to raven converts;  
renovations to revocations in reactions contain victor’s actions._

Words with meaning, but meaningless sentences, yet somehow still conveying a message only she had any hope of untangling. With each new pattern emerging and resolving, another wave of certainty suffused the Drasilian scholar, certainty of her own skill and certainty of her success. Forgotten was her grief over Birgen, forgotten her yearning for Hendrik, forgotten her affection for Lars. Only this mattered and only she mattered and she would be victorious in the end.

“Lady Beatrice,  
You must take some time to eat.  
Morning is now past.”

Shinobu’s voice jolted Beatrice out of the text and she pushed away from the table, breaking the connection. She inhaled deeply, as if just now remembering to breathe, and shook off the vestiges of the book’s hold on her.

She reached up and laid a hand on Shinobu’s arm. “Thank you, dear. I am glad you stayed with me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I dinnae like the things that book tells me.”

The young scholar nodded deeply. “I am so grateful  
to have been asked to help you  
in this endeavor.  
"I have to admit  
I find it hard to fathom  
that books speak to you.”

“Aye, so I’ve been told by many others. Not many actually believe me.” Beatrice stood and stretched. “Let’s to lunch, then,” she said, slipping a strip of parchment into her place and closing the book’s cover.

The two women wound their way down to the lowermost floor and out into the crisp afternoon. A serving woman from Zephyr’s kitchen trotted over to them with bowls of steaming stew, each topped with a generous slice of rye bread. “Thank you, Kaia,” Beatrice said, accepting the delicious-smelling gift. “Give my compliments to the chef.”

Kaia dipped her head in a cheerful nod and returned to the kitchen sled, ready to serve anyone who wanted seconds. In the field, Lars was tossing a ball back and forth with Sesqui, while several others had begun playing a game of skadeball. Barclay was clearly the most skilled, as each time someone attempted to hit his feet with the oblong ball, he was able to perfectly deflect the throw back toward their head. Few of the others were able to block, and so dove to the snow to avoid a direct hit, but whenever someone managed to deflect a throw to Barclay’s head, he caught it and returned the ball so quickly he landed a successful hit on his opponent’s feet every time.

Beatrice could make no sense of the silly game. Its sole purpose seemed to be to inflict injury, though she knew there was some bizarre scoring system. And it was apparently much harder than in looked, since the ball was made to be of uneven weight, so that it was extremely difficult to control. She assumed it had been Barclay’s idea to play, seeing as it was a Heliodorian game. Idly she wondered if Hendrik played.

“Don’t you want to join them?” Beatrice asked Shinobu.

“Though I have been asked  
‘But who could beat Shinobu?’  
I know Barclay could.”

Just then, a young Octagonian woman named Helena attempted to deflect one of Barclay’s throws and sent the ball flying sideways into the spectators. It collided at some speed with Cedric’s face, sending him sprawling into the snow. At once, he was howling, holding his arms over his head. Pain-filled cries, muffled by his cloak, filled the air. It sounded like he was shouting “Glasses!”

Dropping her half-empty bowl into the snow, Beatrice tore across the land bridge, cloak flying behind her. Avila had knelt down next to Cedric and was digging through the drifts around him. As Beatrice reached them, the Valorian woman let out a shout of victory and held aloft an object—Cedric’s glasses, shining like sapphires in the strong sunlight. His hand shot out from beneath his cloak and retrieved them, and at last he ceased his caterwauling.

“Cedric!” Beatrice called. “Are you quite alright?”

The Drasilian antiques dealer pushed himself up on his hands and knees and reached for his cane, which had fallen into the drift beside him. “Ach, I’m nae so sure,” he said.

She held out an arm to him and between his cane and her support he regained his feet. “Come inside,” she said.

Barclay and Helena hovered around them. “I’m so sorry!” Helena said, her distress plain on her round face. “How terribly clumsy of me!”

“Dinnae fret, Helena,” Cedric said, his voice amicable. “No permanent harm done. Get on, now, go play. Dinnae let a silly accident spoil your fun.”

The younger volunteers stood aside as Beatrice accompanied Cedric back into the building. His breathing was still labored, and it seemed as though his limping was slightly more pronounced. They stopped just inside the main room and each settled into a comfortable chair.

As soon as he was off his feet, Cedric sighed. “Ach, that wasnae any fun.”

“What exactly happened?” Beatrice asked. “It looked as though it wasn’t the strike of the ball that was the real problem.”

“Nae, it was my glasses.” He took a deep breath and pushed them further up onto his nose, as if protective. “I was injured when Dundrasil fell,” he said, his voice taking on a darker tone.

Beatrice nodded. “You dinnae have to talk about it,” she said.

He shrugged. “Might as well. I’ve told the story enough times already in the last seventeen years.”

“Almost eighteen,” she said softly.

“Aye. Almost eighteen.” He unclipped his cloak and brushed it onto the chair back. “My family and I were fleeing toward the gates when a wall collapsed on my sister and me. I remember my parents and brother screaming, trying to dig us out of the rubble, and then I lost consciousness. I was pulled out the next afternoon by what remained of the Drasilian guard and a party of volunteers. My sister was dead, and I was permanently injured. Not just my leg,” he gestured to his favored limb, “but I had suffered a blow to the head that somehow made it so that light causes me unbearable pain.”

Beatrice listened with a practiced detachment from her own memories, but still allowed her heart to ache for this poor man’s loss. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Did you ever find the rest of your family?”

He shook his head. “They all perished that night. Being buried in rubble actually saved my life.” He grimaced. “I ended up in a caravan of refugees headed for Puerto Valor, and was taken in by a lovely family on the coast. But I was homebound until I learned of a skilled glass-maker in the city. He was able to craft these for me,” he pointed to the odd spectacles he wore. “They’re nae curved, like regular glasses. Just thick. And the color blocks whatever causes me pain, while still allowing me to see reasonably well. They’re quite a miracle, actually.”

“Aye, that they are. I’m so grateful you were able to find some kind of peace after that night.” She smiled and took his hand. “And I’m glad you found your way here, so I could meet you.”

He squeezed, strong fingers encircling hers. “Thanks for your generous welcome,” he said. “I dinnae suppose you would do me the honor of sharing your story, then.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Ach, Cedric, another time. I havnae finished eating my lunch, and there’s work to be done.” She stood and added, “You rest, now,” before taking her leave of him. And not a moment too soon, as the old sorrow had begun creeping back into her heart.

_ The Dark Books: Day 37 _

Hendrik

They buried Birgen on a Sunday. Hendrik and Oskar were among the pall-bearers, and Queen Frysabel gave the eulogy, moving the entire congregation to tears. The Queen herself guided Birgen’s grieving mother from the church, her regal arm around the servant’s shoulders.

The mournful atmosphere in the palace was such that Frysabel did not wish to gather anyone together for her usual dinner party that night. She chose instead to take her meal with Krystalinda, and left the others to arrange with Master Chef Zephyr for their needs.

Hendrik carried a covered tray from the kitchen, while Beatrice held a bottle of wine, a decanter of water, and two glasses. She pushed the door to her suite inward and held it for Hendrik, who set their dinner on her table. After laying out the delectable flæskesteg and roasted vegetables, rye bread and brunost, Hendrik put the tray aside. Beatrice handed him a glass of water and placed her glass on the table while she wrested the cork from the top of the bottle. He watched her as she pulled at it, and suppressed a smile. He would not dare offer to help—it would not go well for him, he knew. Besides, he was quite enjoying the determined way her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she twisted the opener.

The cork came free with a _pop_ and Beatrice poured herself a generous serving of the dark red wine. She looked up at him with sorrow in her deep, brown eyes and held her glass aloft. “To Birgen,” she said.

“Birgen,” Hendrik murmured, and they drank.

That sad tribute behind them, they ate heartily and passed the next hours in conversation. It was the first time they had spent just talking without being surrounded by others, and Beatrice insisted on hearing the whole story of how he’d helped the Luminary defeat the Lord of Shadows and then the Dark One, thus freeing Erdrea from decades of evil.

Hendrik did not consider himself much of a storyteller, but he marveled at the way Beatrice drew the tale out of him, asking for details—what he’d seen and heard, how he’d felt. As the saga unraveled, he found himself discovering thoughts he’d only been partially cognizant of at the time, recognizing feelings only half-felt in the moment, and deepening his respect for his companions even further.

“You must let me write this story,” Beatrice said, eyes shining with fascination. “It needs to be recorded and shared.”

Hendrik shook his head, an embarrassed smile on his face. “It is not my story,” he said, “but that of the Luminary.”

“Ach, nonsense,” she replied, gesturing with her wine glass. “Though I’ll insist you introduce me to him and the rest of your friends as soon as we have the chance. It’ll take everyone’s voice to paint a full picture of what happened.” Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and he could see the way the very idea of the written word brought her to life as nothing else did. He did not remember ever having met someone so vital, so passionate, so…alive. And it suddenly struck him that he could not remember the last time _he_ had felt this alive simply being in another person’s presence.

“Hendrik?” She was staring at him as if waiting for an answer.

“I…I am sorry, what?”

“Where did you go just now?” She cocked her head. “Ach, I’m boring you silly,” she said. “I’m so sorry. When I start thinking about story and—”

Hendrik leaned across the table and silenced her with a kiss.

 _Yes,_ he thought. _This._


	12. Chapter 12

_ The Dark Books: Day 38 _

Lars

Sesqui lifted Lars in his powerful arms up to one of the upper shelves in his section. The boy loaded up with books and the professaurus lowered him back to the floor. “That’s so much faster than climbing the ladder,” Lars said, grinning ear to ear. “It must be nice to be so tall.”

The professaurus nodded, his whiskers quivering with delight at the boy’s praise. “It has proved useful,” he said, “but I never imagined it could be this useful to other people.” He reached up and pulled a few more volumes from the same shelf, and the two friends wound their way up to the workspace in the Special Collection.

When they got there, Beatrice was hunched over the black book, entirely unaware of the world around her. She did not move even when Sesqui dropped one of the volumes he carried and it landed on the marble floor with a slap. Cedric stood not-quite-hovering over her—today it was his job to pull her back when it was time for lunch.

Lars frowned at the sight. He did not like the way the book seemed to hold her, and the things she told him about how it made her feel—arrogant, all-knowing, as if she and she alone had the skill to plumb the mysteries of this power. She was taking precautions, of course, never studying it for more than an hour or two in the morning. And she said she was making progress. But progress toward what? He could not blot out the uneasiness he felt every time he saw her reading it. What if it changed her? He could not bear to lose her.

She began to murmur aloud as she read. “ _Up woeful owl, lure power for foul rule; Prowl wolf, flow fuel, we powerful few flower woe._ ”

The words snaked outward from her vocal cords and wrapped Lars in a tantalizing embrace. Though nonsense in the literal sense, the strange utterance conveyed meaning that reverberated through his bones and his spirit. His worry about Beatrice evaporated, and was replaced by a confidence he had never felt in all his life. More than a confidence—an overweening certainty that he was destined to be the greatest scholar Erdrea had ever seen. Beatrice was _nothing!_ Less than nothing. Unworthy of the dirt under his boots! She would be useful only as a tool for his own advancement, then he would abandon her, uncaring, even, if she were to die!

“Cedric, what are you doing?” Beatrice’s voice startled Lars out of his appalling reverie and he shook his head, an intense guilt and dread lingering in the wake of his horrendous thoughts. Face going red with embarrassment, he glanced over to Beatrice’s chair. Cedric had closed the distance between them and stood over the scholar, one hand on her shoulder and the other on the book.

“I…I’mnae sure,” he stammered withdrawing his hands as if he’d touched a hot coal. “What…what was that?” he asked. “What you said…those words.”

Beatrice pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ach, did I say them out loud?” She frowned. “And just by hearing them…you felt their power?” She turned and laid eyes on Lars and Sesqui. “And you?” she asked.

Lars nodded, his shame cloying.

“Yes,” Sesqui said. “It was most upsetting. For a few moments I was utterly convinced I was the single most important volunteer in the library. How terribly embarrassing.”

Beatrice’s eyes clouded and Lars recognized the expression—the scholar was trying to work out a puzzle in her mind. “And what went through your mind, Lars?” she asked.

He quailed inwardly. “I…um…”

“It’s okay, Lad,” she said. “This book has the power to twist the way I think when I read it. I’llnae hold anything you say against you.”

It was small comfort, but he wouldn’t dream of lying to her. “I thought I would be the greatest scholar in all of Erdrea.”

Beatrice grinned. “Aye, you might at that, Lad,” she said.

Lars shook his head. “But that wasn’t it. I had…I had terrible thoughts. I…I felt like I was better than you—than everyone. And since _I_ was the only one who was important, I didn’t care if you…I mean I actually _wanted_ you…” He stopped, afraid to give voice to what he had refused to believe he’d actually thought.

Beatrice crossed the room to him and knelt, searching his eyes. “It’s alright, Lars. I need to know the truth about what the book showed you.”

Dropping his voice to an anguished whisper, Lars said, “I wanted you to be dead.”

She pulled him into a tight hug. “Ach, Lad, I dinnae believe you would ever have thought that on your own. It was the book.” She looked up at Sesqui. “Was what you felt as strong as that?”

The dragon wouldn’t meet her eyes, and tugged at his whisker. “Oh dear,” he said. “I didn’t want to say it, but yes. I was so filled with my own importance that I was convinced no one else mattered at all. And that I would just as soon all the rest of you be…um…gone.”

“And you, Cedric?” Beatrice asked.

“Aye, it was much the same with me. Except I saw myself the world’s foremost expert on the ancient, and…” he shook his head. “Well, let’s just say that I imagined women would find my expertise appealing.”

Beatrice frowned. “Appealing,” she repeated.

The Drasilian hung his head. “And I would use and discard them. Or worse.”

“Ah.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It seems as though all of you had a far, _far_ more potent response to hearing the text read out loud than I’ve had simply reading it to myself—or even hearing myself read it out loud.” She stood and walked back to the table, then picked up the book and regarded it closely. “Whatever its ultimate dark purpose,” she said, “reading the book, but especially hearing it read, gives one delusions of grandeur in some wise. But based in reality, in that we all experienced feelings of extreme pride in our actual abilities.” She set the volume back down, then stripped off her gloves and pushed aside a wayward lock of hair. “Ach, I think that was a sign I need a break. Nobody touch that while I’m away.”

Lars watched her go, unease lingering, despite her reassurances that those weren’t his own thoughts. Or that reading the book herself would not have the same severity of effect on her. No matter what she said, he could not help but worry about what this book might do to her.

Beatrice

The crisp, cold air revived Beatrice as she inhaled in slow, measured breaths. She pulled her shawl tighter around her—she’d left her cloak in the inner sanctum, but was grateful for the way the bite of the wind kept her in the present. Every time she delved into the mysteries of the black book, she was pulled away from herself. Not in the way she enjoyed, the way she always allowed her mind to get lost in the words, to see what wasn’t there, to feel what wasn’t written. Certainly those things were happening here, too, but it was as though there was another consciousness in play, as if the unseen author was still living, still engaged in the text somehow.

She refused to let it frighten her. Even without the bizarrely inflated pride that washed over her every time she began to read, she knew she would figure out what this book was, its purpose, and more importantly, how to thwart it.

Hendrik

The prisoner lay supine on his hay mat, staring at the ceiling.

“Comfortable, Markus?” asked the captain of the guard as he stepped into the small chamber outside the cell.

“Come to deliver my breakfast, Oskar? If not, sod off.”

The soldier shook his head. “Oh, come now. Surely you’re not wasting away as of yet, a strapping fellow such as yourself.”

Hendrik almost smiled at the way Oskar had warmed up to his role as interrogator. The young man, already gifted with plenty of competence, was quickly developing the confidence to match. Sniflheim was in good hands with Oskar at the helm of its modest army.

Markus scowled at the ceiling. “It’s been four days. For dear, sweet Queen Frysabel, this constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.”

“You want to eat, you give us a name.”

“Bite me.”

Oskar laughed. “Ironic choice of words. But I’m not the one who’s hungry. A _name_.”

Markus rolled away from them and said nothing.

“I will make this plain. Queen Frysabel has authorized your execution. The kingdom is in an uproar over this violent killing, and the people are demanding justice. If we cannot give them the murderer, we will have no choice but to offer them someone who aided and abetted that murderer.”

“So you’ve said,” Markus muttered to the wall.

Oskar sighed. “Perhaps you do not truly understand what I am saying. If you do not give me a name, you will hang tomorrow at dawn.”

Markus went rigid, waited two heartbeats, then pushed himself to his feet. “Tomorrow,” he said, turning back to his interrogators. “Let’s not be rash.”

“Rash?” Oskar’s voice hardened with anger. “It has been a week since we found Birgen’s body. Two since she disappeared. The time is up, Markus. Cooperate _now_ or die tomorrow.”

Before them, the man seemed to wilt. He ran his hands through the wild hair above his temples and gripped the sides of his head, eyes tightly closed. Hendrik could almost see the war in his head—what to say, how much to say, how to save his own worthless neck. They waited and watched.

“His name is Elvan,” he said.

Beside Hendrik, Oskar’s whole body seemed to sigh with relief, though he maintained his stern demeanor. “Who is this Elvan?”

“He is my partner in our quest for the books of power. We came to Sniflheim together to seek them.”

Oskar frowned. “Why did we not find him in the battle at the library? Clearly he did not fall there, or he would not have been able to commit this heinous crime.”

“No, he was not there,” Markus said, his eyes on the floor. “He was engaged elsewhere in Sniflheim. We were to meet again after I had procured the books, or alternately, he was to meet me at the library had we managed to hold it secure.” This last he spat, as though his defeat there still rankled.

“Where can we find this man?” Oskar asked, his voice steely.

Markus raised his head, a small smile visible within the tangle of his beard. “You won’t find him.”

“How not?” demanded Oskar. “Surely you know where he would be hiding.”

“I have no idea where he is, or _who_ he is.”

Oskar cocked his head, frowning. “Explain yourself.”

Markus straightened and stretched his shoulders, a hint of his customary arrogance returning. “Elvan is a rare and wonderful creature. A sherpent, a massive snake in his true form. But he has the power to assume the shape of any creature he bites, simply by ingesting their blood. He could be anyone now and I wouldn’t recognize him myself.”

Hendrik went cold. The new library volunteers…possibly even the old volunteers. _Dear Yggdrasil! Beatrice!_ “There must be a way to tell,” he cut in, voice iron. “What is it?”

Markus raised his eyes to the towering knight and smirked. “Worried about someone, Hendrik?”

Hendrik’s hand shot through the bars of the cell and fastened on Markus’ throat. He yanked the man forward, slamming his forehead on the metal. “How. Can. We. Tell.”

The prisoner gagged, flailing his hands at Hendrik’s grip on his neck. “Blood,” he choked out. “Blood.”

Hendrik let go and Markus dropped to the floor, coughing. “What about blood?” he demanded.

“It’s…” Markus coughed again, and backed away from the bars. “Elvan’s blood is green. Cut him and you’ll know.”

Hendrik bolted from the room, taking the stairs three at a time and barreling headlong to the stables. He did not even pause to saddle his mount, but flung open the stall door and leapt onto Obsidian bareback, kicking him into a frantic gallop northward.

Beatrice

_Ye legendary leader, enraged angel, yearn an age and enlarge learned eye;  
Nearly grey, dare deny any danger, dangle regal anger near leaden end._

Beatrice stopped. She had seen another sentence much like this back on the first page, when she had visualized in her mind the map of the library. The _enraged angel_ had been invoked previously, and as soon as she made the connection, she felt a physical tug, an urge to flip back to the opening words. She obeyed.

There, six lines down from the top.

_Lead ye, enraged angel, lead and leer grandly a layered energy;  
Legendary anger eagerly raged, rely dearly, need any grayed glen._

Instantly a flash of comprehension lit Beatrice’s mind. The map again crystalized before her, but this time, a visual pulse flowed outward in waves from a shelf on the second level. She leapt to her feet and strode from the inner sanctum.

“Beatrice?” Cedric called after her. “Where are you going?” She heard his limping footsteps following after her and stopped so he could catch up.

“I’ve found another one,” she said. “The first led me to the second.” Urgency bid her quicken her step, but she forced herself to keep pace with her injured countryman.

He said, “How? I dinnae understand.”

She shrugged. “Honestly? Neither do I. It just happened when I made a connection in the text, as if I passed some sort of test and the book rewarded me. Or pushed me forward.” She frowned, thoughtful. “Or is drawing me in deeper. I dinnae know for certain.”

Cedric smiled. “Truly your reputation is warranted,” he said. “It is as Señor Valdez said. And Shinobu.” His voice held pride, rather than awe, as if his association with her as a fellow Drasilian somehow caused him to share in her success.

“Ach, don’t flatter me,” she said. “I havnae discovered how to do what I do. It is gift entirely, and my gratitude goes to Yggdrasil, whatever I accomplish.”

He snorted. “You still cling to the divine in the wake of our people’s genocide?”

Beatrice stopped short and laughed. “Cedric, that’s a much greater discussion involving lots of alcohol. For the moment, I’m focused on other matters.”

“Aye, well said,” he conceded, “but I’ll take you up on the conversation. _And_ the alcohol.” He chuckled as they continued down the stairs.

At a bookcase in the south alcove, Beatrice stopped and crouched to the lowest shelf. She touched a gloved finger to the spine of a book and closed her eyes, listening, opening to chaos, fear, grief, excitement. A visceral pulse ran through her, drawing her hand to the right and up one shelf. Her index finger came to rest on the top of a narrow text and she pulled it out and opened her eyes.

Red this time, but predictably, when she slid open the cover, a piece of heavy muslin fell away, revealing the yawning black chasm of a binding beneath it. She let out a breath, relief and anticipation intertwined in her gut.

Cedric gave a low whistle. “It’s identical to the other one,” he said. “Does it feel different?”

Beatrice cocked her head and listened. “I cannae be sure,” she said. “I’ll need to read it, I think, for any more to be revealed.”

“You are…amazing,” Cedric said, intensity in his voice. “I’venae met anyone like you before.” He reached out a hand and ran a finger along the fine scar on her cheek. “And I cannae help but believe you got this in an impassioned brawl. You’ll have to tell me about it over all that alcohol.”

What has happening here? Was he…? Beatrice placed her hand over his and gently pulled it away. “Cedric—”

Pounding footsteps echoed up from the bottom level. Beatrice stood and looked over the rail to see Hendrik striding across the marble toward the stairwell. Even from twenty feet above him she could see the urgency in his gait, his posture. Something had happened. She clutched the book to her chest and jogged toward the southeast stair, Cedric forgotten.

Hendrik and Beatrice reached the landing at the same time, and Hendrik’s tense expression dissolved into relief.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There may be a shape shifter in our midst. It was he who murdered Birgen.”

Beatrice closed her eyes. “Dear Yggdrasil,” she breathed. “And what now?”

“Markus has told me how to root out the creature. We must assemble everyone in the Special Collection.” He hesitated, his body tense, then grabbed her hand in a vice grip and let out a slow breath. “I am glad to have found you safe.”

She smiled up at him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Be at peace.”

Hendrik

“So, wait a minute,” Barclay said, going white. “We’re supposed to cut ourselves?”

Avila shot him a wicked grin. “Squeamish, Barclay? I would think with all the skadeball you play, you’d have gotten used to blood.”

“Skadeball injuries are usually internal.” He sounded positively faint.

Sesqui’s eyes were huge with concern. “Oh, oh I don’t like the idea,” he said, “but I guess I’m willing to do whatever keeps everyone safe.”

“Oh come on,” said Lars. “How come all you grown-ups are so wimpy?” He snatched Beatrice’s dagger from her hands and drew it across the outside of his forearm, grimacing as it opened a slice in the skin. Crimson fluid dripped down to his elbow. Beatrice handed him a linen cloth and he held it against the wound.

Had the situation been less dire, Hendrik would have laughed at Lars’ audacity. The boy had such spirit. But alas, he hadn’t the luxury to indulge his approval. He said only, “Lars sets a bold example. Let us all follow suit.” He took the dagger from Lars and wiped it on the edge of his cloak before piercing his own forearm and letting everyone present see the blood that came forth.

Beatrice followed, then passed the dagger to Cedric, and he to Shinobu, and so forth around the room until it reached Barclay. “Is there no other way?” the young man squeaked.

“Would you prefer that I do it for you?” Beatrice asked. Hendrik grimaced, grateful she had offered before he had threatened the very same thing.

The young Heliodorian nodded, scrunching up his face, and held out his arm. He looked away as Beatrice grazed the blade over his skin. “AARGH!” he yelped, and yanked his arm back, sending a spray of red droplets all over Beatrice’s linen blouse. She looked down in resignation then rolled her eyes.

Hendrik felt his anxiety drain out through his feet. Even the dragon, whose blood was decidedly _not_ red, had not bled green, which meant that none of the volunteers was Elvan, and therefore no one in the library was immediately at risk. But who, then? And where?

“Thank you all,” he said to the assembly. “In light of this, nothing has changed for you. You must each do your part to remain safe. Travel in groups of at least three at all times, be certain to lock your rooms at night, and carry arms if you know how to use them.”

Beatrice stood. “We’re done here today,” she said. “Take your leisure this afternoon and rest well tonight. The work will wait until tomorrow.”

As one the volunteers rose and trickled out, Helena supporting Barclay on her arm. “I think I’m going to throw up,” he said, and Avila giggled.

“Last one to the Snærfelt buys dinner!” someone shouted, and with that, any residual tension from the meeting in the inner sanctum evaporated, as laughter echoed off marble floors.

Lars and Sesqui hung back with Beatrice. “We’ll walk you back to the palace,” Lars said. “I have my sword.”

Beatrice laid a hand on his shoulder. “I shall be fine, Lad,” she said. “I need to have a word with Sir Hendrik. I’llnae be in any danger with him. Run and catch up with the others. You’ve your lessons with Snorri to attend to.”

The boy nodded, but said, “No one will bother me as long as Sesqui is with me. He _is_ a dragon after all.”

She chuckled. “Aye, that he is.”

“Still,” Hendrik said, caution in his voice “it would be best to stay in groups of three.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lars answered. “Come on, Sesqui. I’m sure we can catch up to Cedric at least!” The two of them tripped out of the room with the boundless energy of youth.

Beatrice shook her head, an indulgent smile on her face. “Ach, who would have predicted that friendship after their first unfortunate meeting,” she said. “And I swear—that professaurus might be an adult in years, but his childlike enthusiasm for everything is so endearing.”

Hendrik sank down into the nearest chair and rested his head in his hands. He felt Beatrice’s fingers light on his shoulders from behind, and begin running through his hair. “You were frightened,” she said.

He sighed. “More than I ought to have been.”

“It’s easier, innit? To hold everyone at a distance. Even a respectful one.”

He reached back and took her hand, then pulled her around him and into his lap, encircling her with his arms and laying his head on her shoulder. “It is my job to risk my life to protect others,” he said. “It is all I know. Whether I am in service to the Luminary or any other being in need of my help, I cannot afford the luxury of emotion.”

“You feel nothing for the Luminary?” she asked.

“It is not that. My loyalty to him is deeper than love, and I would not describe my feelings for any of my recent companions as anything less. But it is different. It does not…interfere with my ability to be rational.”

Beatrice leaned her head onto his. “You cannae see yourself as only my knight protector. I’llnae let you. I’m no fragile child and you’re no soulless golem. If this is to be more than casual sex between us, we will have to risk loss.”

Loss. He tightened his arms around her, not daring to touch the depth of feeling that word brought up for him. She lifted his chin and kissed him and he responded with a long, slow sigh. “We should return to the palace,” he said. “Oskar and I will need to ascertain the identities of everyone there. Even the queen, I am afraid.” He released her and she stood.

“I had hoped to look over the second book,” she said. “But I suppose it’s for the best. I dinnae think it’s wise to spend too much time in them.”

Hendrik glanced at the volumes lying side by side on the table and experienced another flash of emotion. Unbidden, strange visions of the World Tree shattered, all of Erdrea in darkness, a winged, hateful Jasper… These momentary glimpses he’d been having now and then for months, these memories that were not memories—they haunted him now, and wove themselves among his true memories, and his deep unease about what Beatrice had undertaken here.

He willed his musings aside and said, “The books will be waiting for you on the morrow.”


	13. Chapter 13

_ The Dark Books: Day 39 _

Beatrice

_Soar, ravenous raven, arouse aeons, snare eras on nervous rose;  
Savor no reason, nor sane rune, so rave! Sear our ears!_

Halfway through the first page, the library map popped into Beatrice’s head, but with no indication of where the next volume might be hidden. A wave of fury swept through her chest. How dare this evil author tantalize her so. Why not just be plain if he wanted these damn books to conjure evil? How many countless men would kill one another to have such power? Just give it to them and have done! What better way to bring this foul vision to fruition? Instead, this heinous sadist saw fit to torture her. The bastard!

Beatrice pushed back from the table, breaking her contact with the book. “So that’s how it’s going to be,” she murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Barclay looked up from his own volume. “I’m sorry?”

The Drasilian scholar frowned. “Ach, like the other book, this one is playing games with my thoughts. But it’s different. I have the distinct feeling I’m going to be right irritated for the next week.”

“Sounds like I drew the short straw,” the young man quipped, and Beatrice laughed.

“Aye,” she said, then reached for the first volume. “One led me to another,” she said, thinking aloud, “but the connection has to be greater than that. I was only halfway through the first before the second announced itself.”

Barclay set down his quill. “What if they were read together?” he asked. “I mean, if anyone other than you could actually read them.”

“Oh, they’re nae difficult to read, actually.” She beckoned him over and pointed a gloved finger at a sentence in the first book. “Look here. You’ll recognize these letters, aye?”

“Of course. They’re no different than modern Erdrean.”

“Now add a cross stroke to these two, and an ascender on that one.”

Barclay started. “I see it!” he cried. “And this”—he pointed—“just needs its stem extended.” He ran his finger from one end of the sentence to the other. “I can read this! Actually, it’s easy once you recognize the little changes!” He frowned. “But you weren’t kidding. It makes absolutely no sense, and…and it makes me feel like I’m better than everyone else. Ick.”

“Aye, that it does.” She smiled. “I think there might be something to your idea about reading the books at the same time. But I dinnae think I’m ready for us to attempt it yet. When I accidentally read the first one out loud, its effect on the people around me was far greater than what I experienced. Who knows what might happen if two are read aloud. I’llnae put anyone needlessly at risk.” She closed the first volume and turned reluctantly to the second. “Now keep your distance,” she said with a grim smile. “I dinnae want to hurt you while I’m reading this one.”

Hendrik

No one in the palace had bled green. Hendrik and Oskar stood in the courtyard discussing their next course of action.

“Perhaps Elvan fled when Birgen’s body was discovered,” the younger man proposed, his knee propped on a stone bench and one arm resting across it.

Hendrik rubbed his beard. “It is possible,” he said, “but I cannot think he would simply abandon his quest for the books. Particularly if he and Markus are answerable to a higher authority.”

Oskar shrugged. “Unless Elvan was so cowardly he fled both us and his master.”

“Also possible. Though in my experience, men who are in thrall to a greater evil fail to see the danger in the one they serve.” He ignored the twinge in his gut.

“So what are our options?” The guardsman’s blue eyes clouded. “We can’t walk around stabbing every single person in Sniflheim. And it wouldn’t matter anyway if Elvan could simply transform into someone we’ve already tested.” He huffed out his frustration.

Hendrik smiled. “I fear there is nothing more that we can do other than take the precautions we have already instituted. And perhaps one other.”

“What is that?” Oskar asked.

“I think it would be best if no one spoke about Markus’ books outside the library. If there is no information floating around as to how many have been found or what has been discovered about them, then Elvan will not have the information he needs to take action.”

Frysabel’s captain stood and stretched. “I am glad you are here, Sir Hendrik,” he said. “I have only been a soldier, and that for only a few years. I fear I am out of my depth.”

Hendrik put a companionable hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Nonsense. You have risen to the occasion with aplomb. It is an honor to serve with you. And at whatever time I am called upon to return to Dundrasil, I have no doubt you will keep Sniflheim in good order for Her Majesty, Queen Frysabel.” It was no exaggeration. Oskar’s mind was as almost as keen as Jasper’s had been, and his loyalty to Frysabel would keep him on the straight path.

_ The Dark Books: Day 40 _

Beatrice

It was Avila’s job to watch over Beatrice as she dug into the second book the next morning, and Beatrice warned her that she might be somewhat irritable as she read. “I didnae do any bodily harm to Barclay yesterday, though, so you should be safe.”

Avila laughed and picked up a stack of parchment from the table. “Do you mind if I look through your notes on the first book? Honestly, I’m more than a little fascinated by what I’ve heard about the way you’re able to see more in the text than is actually there.”

“Oh, it’s all there somewhere,” Beatrice said. “But not explicitly. I dinnae know quite how I’m able to see it, but I do know it isnae anything that originates in my own head.” She pulled on her gloves. “Feel free. And if anything jumps out at you from my notes, be sure to let me know.”

“Absolutely.” Avila settled into the chair next to Beatrice and began scanning through the scholar’s handwritten commentary.

Steeling herself against the onslaught of anger she knew was coming, Beatrice opened the book to the parchment marker indicating where she’d left off.

_Rouse sure ones near runes, earn onus, rue reason;  
Rove over sea, ravenous raven, so sour our era._

The ravenous raven again—that would be the key to finding the next volume in the set. And it was about damn time, too! Stupid bastard of an author just had to be secretive about the whole fucking process. And—

The following couplet caught Beatrice’s eye and all thought of the ravenous raven evaporated.

_Aim! Ram! Mar manly arm! Maul, my liar!  
Luminary lain in ruin, nary a lunar ray._

She closed the book over her hand. “Avila,” she said, breathless, “find Hendrik. Right now.”

Unquestioning, the Valorian volunteer jumped to her feet and ran from the inner sanctum, leaving the sheaf of notes in disarray. Beatrice reached for a blank sheet of parchment and quill pen careful to hold the ancient text far from the ink bowl. She wrote out the couplet, referring back to make sure she had it precisely. She read, and re-read it, interested to note that its rage-inspiring effect, though lessened, did not disappear simply because she had transferred it to another medium. The words themselves seemed to convey a great deal of the power held in the book, not just the book itself. Was there something to be gleaned from that?

An intriguing question, but not the one that had primacy at the moment. What did it mean that the Luminary was mentioned herein? She knew so little about the legend of Erdwin, the first Luminary—almost nothing remained in writing, and what had been thought—that Erdwin’s spirit had been held in the mysterious star long hovering in Erdrea’s sky—had been in error. But Hendrik had learned the truth, and she needed him now to help her decipher the meaning of this inclusion.

She recognized his footfalls coming across the bridge and turned to greet him, her uneasy curiosity tempered by the quickening of her pulse at the sight of him. His eyes held concern. “Avila said there was some urgency,” he said. “What has happened?”

Beatrice gestured for him to sit beside her, and showed him the couplet she had written. “Can you think of what it might mean?” she asked. “Keeping in mind that I’mnae sure if any of these daft verses have any sort of literal meaning whatsoever.” Hendrik’s jaw clenched as he looked over the parchment, and she knew he was experiencing the anger that came with reading the text itself. “I forgot to warn you,” she said, “this book makes you rageful when you read it. That’s nothing to do with the couplet itself.” He nodded, hands tightening into fists, and re-read it.

He sat back and closed his eyes, as if turning the phrases over in his mind. Beatrice waited, impatient. At length he said, “It is quite possible that the one called ‘my liar’ is none other than Morcant, who betrayed and murdered Erdwin at the moment Erdwin would have defeated Calasmos once and for all.” He scratched his beard. “While his attack as we witnessed it in a vision was not quite so violent as these words would indicate, the result would have been the same. The Luminary lay in ruins, and the darkness—nary a lunar ray—lived on in Morcant, who became Mordegon, and later, in Calasmos himself.”

Beatrice nodded, mulling over his words. “Aye, that makes sense. And it’s the first thing in these cursed books that actually _has_ made sense. So what does that mean?”

“That would be your area of expertise, I think,” he said.

“It has left me to wonder whether these ancient books are merely a record of what has happened, or a plan for what will or could happen. Or both. If they’re the instructions for a ritual designed to bring back Calasmos, written a thousand years before Calasmos was actually defeated… It doesnae make much sense.”

Hendrik offered a half-smile. “You yourself just said nothing of this makes sense.” His tone was mildly dismissive—she knew he still was not happy about her pursuit of answers within the books. She shrugged off his measured disinterest.

“Aye. Still, I cannae believe the Luminary’s inclusion is meaningless.” Running her hand over his thigh, she said, “Thank you for your help.”

He covered her hand with his, a genuine smile lighting his features now. “My pleasure. Shall I send Avila back in? Or did you need me for anything…further?” he asked, leaning in close, eyes twinkling.

She kissed him, then sighed. “Work to do,” she said. “Perhaps we can continue our research this evening?”

“Mm,” he said, nuzzling the hair above her ear. “Sounds fascinating.”

_ The Dark Books: Day 46 _

Beatrice

A week later, five black books lay on the long table in the Special Collection, like rectangular holes in the wooden surface, leading to the void. Alongside each sat a sheaf of parchment covered in Beatrice’s strong hand: notes and conjectures, and the occasional sketch.

She stood in the doorway, a deepening unease creeping outward from her heart to the tips of her extremities. Hendrik touched her shoulder and she relaxed a little, and stepped over the threshold. Shinobu, Barclay, Cedric, Helena, and Avila followed her in. Sesqui and the rest of the volunteers were to continue their work elsewhere in the building. Beatrice had insisted Lars remain at the palace for extra lessons with Snorri. She did not want him nearby should anything go wrong.

“I have solved at least part of the riddle of the books,” she said to Hendrik as the others stood gathered in a knot by the fire. “Each represents one of the seven deadly sins.” She gestured to the first volume. “I wasnae sure what was happening when I read this one, only that it gave me thoughts of intense mastery and a complete certainty that not only could the puzzle of these books be solved, but that I was the only one who could do it.” She walked around the table, pausing at each volume. “This one filled me with righteous anger, which wouldnae surprise me coming from an essentially evil text. But this one? Ach, I’ve nae felt so hungry in all my life. Poor Zephyr kept having to send more food up to the library and I swear I gained a dozen pounds in two days.” She laughed. “And this one,” she stopped at the fourth volume and smiled ruefully, “just made me want to take a nap. I swear I fell asleep half a dozen times trying to wrest meaning from the damn book.” She stopped at the last of the found volumes. “But it wasnae until I started reading this one that it became clear to me. As soon as I began yesterday, I was filled with a gnawing envy of everyone around me. I wanted Krystalinda’s magic—and body, if I’m honest—and Frysabel’s hair, Helena’s youth, even Barclay’s skill at skadeball. It was ridiculous.” She shook her head. “Then this morning, I woke with the list of the seven deadly sins running through my head and felt a right idiot for not realizing it sooner.”

Shinobu looked thoughtful. “So all that remains  
are the books of lust and greed.  
Those complete the set.”

“Aye,” Beatrice said. “But I feel we need to try reading more than one of them in concert now, before we have all seven. I have reached an impasse in my research of them. I sense from them that together they are more than just the sum total of the group. But I cannae see how they fit together. So despite the possible hazards, I think we need to try this.”

She pulled on her gloves and picked up the books of gluttony and sloth. “We’ve all now been reading these books, and experiencing their effects on us. But I know that when a book is read aloud, its effect on the people around the reader is far greater. So I want to start with the ones that seem to have the least deleterious effects.” She gestured to Avila and Barclay. “You two, if you dinnae mind.”

“My pleasure,” said Avila, pulling on a pair of gloves. Barclay followed suit. With great care, they accepted the indicated volumes and opened them.

Beatrice said, “Start on the fifth page. Before that, it seems the text is most concerned with leading the reader to the next book. Afterwards, the patterns change.”

“I still don’t get what you mean by patterns,” Helena said. “I’ve read dozens of these pages and the words are all just random to me.”

“Do not question it,” Shinobu said.  
This is her singular gift.  
The words speak to her.”

Barclay turned the pages of his volume. “Maybe everyone should sit down,” he said. “I read this sloth one yesterday and I’d hate to have you fall over.”

Avila laughed, “Either from exhaustion or hunger.”

“Ach, I’m glad for your good attitudes,” Beatrice said, “but I’m afraid this may be no laughing matter. I’d prefer everyone to be ready for whatever happens.”

Hendrik stood beside her, his body taut as if going into battle. The others gathered in a loose knot around them, their expressions a range of curiosity and unease. Avila and Barclay joined the circle and waited for Beatrice’s instruction.

“Begin,” she said, and closed her eyes.

Barclay’s youthful tenor wove itself with Avila’s lilting soprano, seemingly random words floating through the air, here covering one another, there coalescing into a sort of harmony of sound and meaning. A hollow grew in Beatrice’s gut quickly opening into a yawning chasm, a potent craving for all the best that Master Chef Zephyr could cook, but more than that—for the words themselves, as if she could consume them and they would fill her to bursting. And then…then she could succumb to her overwhelming desire to take her leisure, to rest in a cloud of downy pillows while the world went on around her, doing nothing other than basking in the sound and feel of ancient glyphs. Her stomach clenched and growled while her whole body went weak, as though she might slump into a stupor at any moment.

At first she was aware of the books similar effects on the people around her. Hendrik swayed beside her, dropping to one knee to stop himself from doubling over, groaning in what must be hunger. But within moments, her own gnawing hunger and debilitating languor morphed into something quite different.

As the words continued their partnered dance, new patterns emerged, thoughts and ideas contained in both books and neither, flickering visual imagery beyond just the map of the building. The laying of a foundation, black ink in a bowl, monk-like beings, cowled and marching. Then a brief flash of pure white light filled with hope and joy, quickly smothered by rageful shadows. A slow, sinister chant began to emerge from within and beneath the sounds from Barclay and Avila’s lips.

She felt her body begin to sway, as if physically buffeted by the words; the patterns circled around her, like a serpent, tightening their grip on her chest, her neck. _More_ , they said. _More is more and all is best and all is one and one must live._ Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat. _More is more and all is best and all is one and one must live._ The constriction increased, the feeling of being battered escalating until it was as though each beat of the chant was a massive blow to her body. _More is more and all is best and all is one and one must live._ She could no longer breathe. Vertigo seized her and she pitched forward.

“Stop!” Hendrik’s voice filled the room as his arms caught her. Silence followed the echo of his shout, breaking the spell, and Beatrice gasped air. She opened her eyes but saw only a shifting grey-black for long moments. As her vision cleared, it revealed the room spinning, colored book bindings smeared together.

Hendrik lifted her into his arms and set her onto a chaise longue. The others gathered around, concern reflected in their now in-focus faces. “Give her space,” the knight commanded, but Beatrice laid a hand on his arm.

“Ach, it’s alright. I’m fine now.” She took another deep, cleansing breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Helena knelt by her side. “What happened?” she asked. “I mean, other than the fact that I could really use a snack and a week’s vacation.”

“Clearly we didnae experience what you did,” said Cedric, lighting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’llnae doubt it. There were new patterns, and visual images. Not clear, but like drawings somehow, faded and brown. And random, but all connected. They had to do with this library, I think.” She paused and breathed deeply again. “The books called out to each other. They wanted to be read together. All of them.”

“And?” asked Barclay, eagerness in his eyes.

“And when that happens, it’ll nae be good.” She frowned. “Except…”

“Except what?” Cedric’s voice held intensity.

Beatrice closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannae put my finger on it. But there’s…I dinnae know…a mistake. Or a hole. I’m nae sure. There was a moment of pure light and hope that was so at odds with the rest of it. It didnae last. But it was there.” She sighed.

“I think it is best for everyone if we end the experiment for now,” said Hendrik, and Beatrice felt a flash of affection matched by irritation. She wanted to press on, but she knew he was right.

“Aye,” she said. “I know there’s bread and brunost downstairs, and you’re all right peckish.” She chuckled. “Rest for a few moments and then it’s back to cataloguing.”

Helena said, “Aww. This is so much more exciting!”

“Another Octagonian thrill-seeker, eh?” Beatrice said with a broad grin. “Dinnae worry yourself. We’ll take this up again tomorrow. With three texts. And remember,” she admonished them, “no talk of this outside these library walls!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” shouted Barclay with a mock salute. Her helpers wandered out, whispering about the strange books and the even stranger experiences of their leader.

Cedric lingered. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?” he asked. “You didnae look to be so at the end there.”

“Aye. It wasnae pleasant, the way the words seemed to attack me.”

“Attack?” Hendrik frowned. “We could see nothing except that you suddenly started choking and fell forward. Beatrice, can you not leave off this mad quest?”

“How?” demanded Cedric, his face eager. “Clearly you know nothing about this woman. In little more than a week I’ve learned she’ll nae rest until she wrests every secret from those dark tomes. She’s Drasilian, man!”

Hendrik turned to the antiques dealer, his expression dark. “I am well aware of her spirit and her determination,” he said coolly. “I am also aware that this pursuit may do irreparable harm to her, or any number of others including yourself. I only caution her to be sensible.”

“You know I’m sitting right here,” Beatrice said, ice in her voice. “I’llnae have you two men arguing about what I ought to do.” She shrugged off Cedric’s hand and pushed herself to her feet. “Off with you both. I need space to get my wits about me.”

Cedric limped off without a word, but Beatrice laid a hand on Hendrik’s arm, holding him back. She looked up into his eyes and brushed aside his wayward forelock. “I hear you,” she said. “I know I am in dangerous territory. But you of all people should know that the only way to defeat a great evil is to go into that dangerous territory.”

Hendrik caught her hand in his and held it against his cheek. “I have never gone into dangerous territory alone,” he said. “And for all that you are surrounded by allies, able and intelligent though they may be, ultimately it is only you who is in harm’s way.”

“Perhaps. I dinnae presume to equate myself to the Luminary,” she said, “but what if this is the purpose of my gift? I heard something. Felt something. Even within that seething cauldron of dread, there was a hint of a way that all of it might be reversed.”

“If it is true, then perhaps you are right. But it is only a hint. And while I could feel nothing from the actual words being spoken save a strong urge to eat and rest, I could feel something in you. Could feel some kind of struggle going on. One that I could not see.”

“And therefore couldnae fight,” she said.

Hendrik sighed and kissed the palm of her hand. “I am beginning to feel like just another book you can read without effort,” he said, and gave up a grim smile. “I will be here with you, will stand with you while you wage this incomprehensible campaign. But I will not like it.”

A teasing smile crept across her face. “Until I find the book of lust,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and pulled her into an embrace.


	14. Chapter 14

_ The Dark Books: Day 49 _

Beatrice

Over the next three days volunteers joined Beatrice and Hendrik in the Special Collection. They repeated the experiment with three books, then four, and then five. To prevent serious collateral damage, only volunteers who would actually be reading the volumes were present, and Hendrik—against his preference—blocked his ears with a dense putty Krystalinda had engineered to keep out all sound. Only Beatrice would be fully open to the spoken words.

Each time, she experienced many of the same sensations and saw many of the same visions, and each time the deleterious effects on her body decreased, as though the consciousness behind the words had begun to accept her in some way. But while her body seemed less battered with each trial, she could not say the same for her mind.

When she opened herself to the voices of the glyphs, they reached out to her, wrapped themselves around her consciousness, and pulled. The patterns beckoned and welcomed, willing her to see more, to go deeper. Yet she could not shake the idea that there was something that other mind did not want her to see. And the more he tried to distract and redirect, the more determined she became to uncover it. It led to a kind of tug-of-war in her brain, and each time Hendrik stopped the reading and broke her contact, it took longer and longer to untangle her thoughts. The last time she came away with a monstrous headache and a lingering feeling of confusion.

Still, she felt she was getting closer to understanding, to some kind of breakthrough about the nature and purpose of the volumes, and while Hendrik remained uncomfortable with the proceedings, he had agreed to trust her judgment, and stand by her while she plumbed the depths of them. So when the book of greed was located, he once again planted himself beside the Drasilian scholar, ready at a moment’s notice to pull her back from the brink. Avila, Barclay, Cedric, Helena, Sesqui, and Shinobu circled them, each holding a volume open to the fifth page. Beatrice looked up at Hendrik and he nodded.

“I’m ready,” she said, closing her eyes. “Begin.”

Six voices filled the space, a mix of male and female, high and low, resonant and light. They floated in and amongst each other, like warp and weft, weaving color and pattern. Emotions assailed her, envy and wrath, greed and pride, sloth and gluttony, and above, under, and through them, images of darkness formed and disintegrated. Still she could not identify this other consciousness but he—for she felt strongly it was so—seemed to know her, seemed to have been expecting her.

The hazy pictures began to order themselves into a story, though a senseless one. She caught glimpses of an enraged angel wheeling through the sky with a ravenous raven, an indolent lion sleeping beside an avaricious vicar, and a covetous countess being serenaded by a concupiscent poet. One party was absent from the assembly—he that represented pride. She saw that he was the lynchpin, the focus of the ritual, and that he would be named in the last volume, thus completing the circle, each pointing to the next, and back to the beginning. And there at the beginning would all things become clear. The beginning of the circle, the beginning of time. Did a circle have a beginning or an end? Did time?

The moment the question of time swirled through her consciousness, visions of small translucent creatures with laughably long arms trailing on the ground appeared among the strings of words and danced, joining hands to form shapes like snowflakes, then twisting and breaking apart.

One of these little creatures remained fixed just at the edge of her vision. It was slightly different, more luminescent, and it seemed to be waving to her, beckoning her toward a tiny pinpoint of warm, welcoming light. She turned to look more closely and felt a hand on her arm, pulling her back and away. “No,” she said, determined to see. And then a flurry of shadowy forms flew across her vision like hail in a violent storm. Something caught hold of her mind and spun her, and she reached out, grasping for anything solid, anything stable. She sprawled, spiraling downward, dark hands seizing her wrists and pulling her, words whispering and muttering and calling and screaming, and then silence.

Beatrice blinked, and before her stood another of the strange creatures, but iridescent black with a strange swirl of orange light in its belly. With one long arm he gestured upward. Above him, hovering in the air, attached to nothing and leading nowhere, was a keyhole.

_F I N D I T. A L L I S O N E A N D O N E M U S T L I V E._

Instantly, the screaming, careening, swirling madness swept her up again, _All is one and one must live,_ over and over, crashing into her like a troll’s fists, _All is one and one must live_ , boring into her mind like a twisting dagger, _All is one and one must live,_ whipping her around like a whirlwind. Suddenly she was screaming along with the words and patterns that lashed her, “ _All is one and one must live! All is one and one must live!”_

Beatrice

She came to herself tightly wrapped in a man’s arms, blinding pain stabbing into the space behind her eyes. “Beatrice,” he said, voice deep and resonant and heavy with emotion. “Beatrice, can you hear me?”

“Stand back!” Another man’s voice, with a familiar cadence and brogue. “She cannae breathe with you so close.”

She wanted to see them, to know who they were, but the agony in her head would not let her. Everything was clouded in confusion. Despair and hope, fear and confidence, darkness and light. And a key. What key? What _keys_?

“Water,” she croaked, and after the sounds of scuffling feet, cool relief was held to her lips. She swallowed, choked, swallowed again.

“Beatrice.” A large hand, soft and warm, brushed over her forehead and cradled her cheek. A scent. Familiar. Beloved. “Please.”

A wan, distant memory. Blue-green eyes like the sunlit sea. Eyes that saved her. “Hendrik,” she murmured, and relaxed into his embrace.

“Thank Yggdrasil.” He rested his head on hers and she felt his body trembling. She wanted to reach for him, to tell him all was well. The pain in her head would not let her.

Beatrice

She woke again, this time in her bed in her darkened room. She could open her eyes with only a little discomfort, and they lighted on the back of Hendrik’s head, resting on the blanket. He sat on the floor, his upper body leaned against the bed, with one arm protectively over her. She reached out, stroking his hair. “Hendrik,” she murmured.

He stirred at the sound of her voice and caught her hand in his, drawing it down to his lips before pushing himself upright. “At last,” he said, and she could see he had been weeping.

“I am so sorry.”

He held a finger to her lips and shook his head. “One must walk into dangerous territory to fight evil.” Taking her hands and staring up at her in the semi-dark, he said, “But let us retreat from this territory for a time. Too much, too close together. It has taken a toll on you.”

She nodded. “On us both. Aye, let’s away. No dark magic books, no library project, no Markus or shape shifting serpents. The volunteers can catalogue, Lars can study with Snorri, Oskar can protect everyone, and you and I can disappear.”

“Hotto,” he said.

“Ach, the hot springs! But it would take weeks just to get there.”

“The Champs Sauvage, then. Finest cuisine in all Erdrea. We can book passage on a ship from the harbor tomorrow.”

“Aye, that sounds good. There’s a little town in the mountains called Mont Marsan, not far from L'Academie de Notre Maitre les Medailles. An inn there boasts a hot spring like Hotto’s, though I don’t doubt they do some of the heating themselves. Either way, nothing better to clear my clouded head and soothe my aching body.” She leaned down and kissed him. “And no time too soon.”

He pushed himself up and sat beside her on the bed. “You are sure you are well enough to travel?”

She closed her eyes and pinched he bridge of her nose. “Get some of Chef Zephyr’s flæskesteg and a good stiff belt of Drasilian Rivergod into me and I’ll be as good as I’m going to get.”

Hendrik chuckled. “My Beatrice,” he said, his voice heavy with relief.

Elvan

A key rattling in the door brought Elvan to his senses. Yggdrasil, he was tired of not knowing what time it was. Maybe it was dinner time. He rolled into a sitting position on the straw pile. As soon as his visitor appeared, he scowled.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” he demanded.

“Things are taking longer than anticipated,” Markus said, uninterested in his compatriot’s discomfiture.

Elvan pulled himself up by the cell bars and jabbed a finger in Markus’ face. “You almost got me hanged, you bastard.”

Markus shrugged. “We couldn’t well leave the little tramp alive after you took on her form,” he said.

“You didn’t have to brutalize her that way, you soulless pig. If you’d just stabbed her, no one would have thought it was any more than a random cutpurse.”

“You thought on your feet,” came the matter-of-fact reply. “Or your tail, maybe.”

“Yeah? Well I almost bit a rat and got my arse out of here, and damn the consequences.”

Markus frowned. “You know that would have blown both our covers, and the master would not have been pleased.”

“Huh. You’re just lucky I’m less of a coward than you are.” He gave Markus the once over. “Nice look, by the way.”

“Shut up. I need to be quick. If I’m caught down here, we’re screwed.”

“So get on with it.”

“We’re close. But we have one insurmountable obstacle.” Markus clenched his fists. “We need to get rid of Hendrik now. It’s the only way we’ll be able to pull this off.”

Elvan shrugged. “Well you can’t kill him. We need him.”

“I _know_ that. But it needs to seem like it’s his choice to leave so there’s no suspicion. If he just disappears, the whole thing goes sideways.”

The sherpent snickered. “Too bad your brother was the genius tactician and not you.” Markus punched him through the bars. “OW!” He rubbed his jaw. “Arsehole,” he muttered. “Ohhhh wait a minute.”

“What?” Markus demanded, impatience writ large on his features.

“There’s one thing more important to him than hovering over Beatrice,” he said, stroking his wild beard. “The only thing that would actually pull him away from here willingly. And it could work in our favor in more ways that one.”

“What could work?”

Elvan flashed a truly evil grin. “We go after the Luminary.”


	15. Chapter 15

_ The Dark Books: Day 51 _

Beatrice

A soft breeze swirled through the campsite, sending a lazy spiral of sparks upward from beneath a roasting rabbit. Hendrik poked idly at the meat with a sharp stick, his other arm wrapped around Beatrice as she curled into his side. She inhaled the fragrant smoke, reveling in the cool air and the sound of near-silence. After a sip of ale from her leather mug she indulged in a deep, contented sigh.

“The outdoor life seems to agree with you,” Hendrik said, kissing her hair before lifting his own mug, full of spring water.

“I’ll be happy to reach l’auberge* in Mont Marsan tomorrow, but this is lovely. I think it’s the complete freedom from responsibility to anyone else,” she said.

“Mmm,” he replied.

She smiled. “I dinnae suppose you ever feel free of responsibility.”

“I cannot say I know exactly what it feels like. Not for a long, long time, anyway.”

Beatrice snaked her fingers into his. “How old were you when Zwaardsrust fell?”

A short silence. And then, “I was eight.”

Crushed by the weight of his sorrow, she regretted her curiosity. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Hendrik tightened his arm around her. “No. I want you to know these things.” He took another drink. “I had a younger sister. Lotte. She had been ill for months and my parents could find no one who could help. Then one day they got word of a medicine woman, a seer, on the other side of the city. My father’s duties to the king kept him away for long hours. My sister was too ill to travel and my mother could not leave her. So they sent me to the seer. By the time I reached her cottage, it was too late for me to return home so I stayed with her. The massacre happened that night.”

Beatrice squeezed his hand. “Ach, Hendrik.”

“I remember the screaming in the darkness. Somehow the seer managed to keep us both safe as we ran for the gates—I clung to her hand with everything I had, terrified at any moment to find myself alone in the chaos. We turned down an alleyway and ran into a knot of people clustered around a woman who was actually singing, her lively voice cutting through the noise around us. The seer consulted with her briefly, though I have no memory of what was said, then the woman led us through a twisting, turning series of alleys and passageways in near total darkness, the sound of her voice the only thing that made it possible to follow her.” He paused and closed his eyes, as if listening for some distant sound. “I still remember her song, and the way it gave us all hope even in the midst of our terror.” He sighed. “At long last, we reached a narrow gate in the outer wall that no one had seemed to notice, and we all made our way into the forest beyond the city, and onward through the night until we reached the village of Valdsgraaf, ten miles to the south.”

“Ten miles,” Beatrice said softly. “After all that. And at your age. Dear Yggdrasil.”

Hendrik did not respond, only poked absently at the fire. At last he continued. “The next morning we could see the smoke rising from the city in the distance, and within an hour refugees began arriving with harrowing tales. I waited with the seer for three days, for any sign of my family, my friends. But reality settled in. They were gone. All of them. Everyone I had ever known.” His voice cracked with grief, and he closed his eyes for several moments. Then, composed, he said, “Finally, the seer took me to the woman who had saved our lives—an astonishingly beautiful woman, a circus performer. She wanted to take me with her to Puerto Valor—she said she had a son my age. But the seer told her that my destiny lay in Heliodor and asked if the woman could assist me in getting there. A group of refugees was found who were bound for that kingdom, and they agreed to take me with them. King Carnelian himself took me into his care. He had just brought Jasper and Markus from their father’s house, and thought we might help one another adjust. And so, eventually, we did.” Having finished his tale, Hendrik took a long drink from his mug, and stared into the fire.

Beatrice let the silence linger. There was nothing she could say.

At length, Hendrik rolled to his knees and pulled the roast rabbit from the fire, pushing it onto a travel plate with his stick. His strong, skillful hands sliced it from the bone with a few knife strokes, and he set the sizzling meat between them. “Knife?” he asked, and passed her one, and the two of them dug in.

“Ach, that’s amazing that is,” Beatrice said, grease dripping down her chin. “You dinnae put anything on it?”

“A little wild rosemary,” he said. “It is growing right over there.” He pointed to the edge of the clearing. “Otherwise just fresh air.”

“That may be the best seasoning there is,” she said, licking her fingers. “Master Chef Zephyr could learn a thing or two out here.” After they had eaten their fill, Hendrik carried the remains out well beyond the campsite and buried them. When he got back, he wiped his hands on a linen cloth and dropped back down beside Beatrice, who handed him his re-filled mug.

“Thank you.” He kissed her softly and rested his forehead on hers.

“Thank _you_ ,” she replied. “For telling me.”

He smiled. “It felt good,” he said.

“You were in Dundrasil, too, aye? Did you nae have a terrible sense of déjà vu?”

Hendrik pulled away and reached for her hand, and she laid her head on his arm. “It had been a dozen years by then, and I had fought my demons with every swing of my sword. I merely leaned into my duty to King Carnelian that night, and did not stop to think.”

“I was twenty-two,” Beatrice said. She had not told the story in years, and she was afraid of what might happen when she did now. But Hendrik had been vulnerable with her, and she knew she must do likewise. “I was a young scholar, just beginning to build a reputation in the world of academia. King Erwin had appointed me to the staff of the Drasilian Royal Library at the age of only twenty—an incredible honor.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Hendrik’s voice held an indulgent warmth.

“That was where I met Duncan.” Just giving voice to his name caused her throat to constrict. She breathed through it. Hendrik waited. “Ach, he was so shy. Every time we were in the same room it was as though he couldnae speak. But he was a brilliant man, and I was determined to know him. It took him almost a year to ask my father’s permission to court me. And another eight months to ask me to marry him. Dear, dear man.” Her voice went, then, and she blinked back tears. Hendrik pulled her closer.

“You do not have to go on.”

“Ach, I must. You should know it, and I should tell it.” She sipped her ale and regained her composure. “We were late in the library that night. We heard the screaming and the sounds of fighting, the echoes of explosions from all parts of the city. We’d no idea what was happening, but knew we needed to get out. We ran toward the lower exit, when suddenly a great bang deafened me and the wall just ahead of me blew inward, ripping Duncan from my grasp and throwing him across the room. He was killed instantly.” She took in a ragged breath. “In that moment I decided I would stay there and die with him. I sat down in the rubble and took his battered hand in mine and just waited.” Her voice grew soft, wistful. “But then I remembered the way he looked at me, the way he spurred me on, inspired me, the way he told me how much he loved my spirit. And I thought… ‘if I stay here, I’ll disappoint him. He would want me to live.’ So I kissed him, and I stood up, and I left him there.” Tears were falling, now. She did not try to stop them.

“A kind of cold stillness came over me. I hardly remember any more of the chaos. I found my way to the alley, and from there through the back streets of the lower city. It was as though I was invisible—no monster hindered or even seemed to notice me. And then I came across a breach in the outer wall and slipped through into the black of night. From there it was a matter of following the river upstream, keeping under the trees. The sounds of the attack grew fainter and fainter, and when I could hear nothing more than chirping crickets and night breezes, I crawled into a patch of tall grass and slept.”

Beatrice shivered. The sun had crept behind the hillside to their west, and the air temperature had dropped precipitously. Hendrik rose and retrieved their cloaks from where they’d hung them on a tree. He laid Beatrice’s over her shoulders and then added a log to the campfire. “Better?” he asked.

“Aye,” she said. “Thank you.” He refilled her ale before settling back beside her. “Well the next morning, it was all over. I woke half frozen and famished, drank my fill from the river and stumbled back to the city. You know what it looked like.”

Hendrik closed his eyes. “I remember well.”

“I went home, but of course it wasnae there. Just a pile of blackened rubble. My family had tried to flee, but they were all lost. My parents, Stewart, Cullen, Alastair, Paden, Donal, Fergus, and little Aila.” She had not uttered their names in years. Dear Yggdrasil, why did it still hurt so much to remember? She wiped tears on the edge of her cloak, unable to go on for several moments. Hendrik stroked her shoulder in silence.

She downed a swallow of ale. “Duncan’s family, too. Gone. There was no one left, and no place to go. A Drasilian soldier found me wandering the streets in a daze, and sent me with a group of refugees to Cobblestone. I stayed only long enough to regain my strength, then made my way over the next year to the Hotto Toshokan, where Mistress Aoi gave me purpose again.” Quiet sobs shook her. Finally she said, “I cannae understand why I still cry this much almost eighteen years later. You must think me right fragile.”

Hendrik tensed beside her. “That is the last thing I would say about you.” He twisted toward her and lifted her chin with a gentle finger. She saw in his eyes that same sorrow she had recognized all those weeks ago, the sorrow that mirrored her own. “You have endured. I saw people who did not. People who never recovered after Zwaardsrust fell, and later, after Dundrasil; who simply gave up.” He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I have known you only two months and yet have witnessed uncommon strength in you. You are not fragile.”

His words wrapped her in warmth, and she sighed. “I just wish it didnae still hurt.”

He rested his head on hers. “So do I,” he said.

_ The Dark Books: Day 52 _

The aches of travel ebbed from Beatrice’s muscles and joints and were washed away in the swirling stream that flowed through the private pool in their room in l’auberge. Along with them went the tension in her body caused by weeks of unease following the attack on the library and the growing sense of urgency around the dark mystery she needed to solve.

“This was a brilliant idea,” she said, nestling her head into the crook of Hendrik’s elbow where it rested along the edge of the pool. She watched her toes float in front of her, buoyed up by the hot, fragrant water, and took a sip of cool, white wine.

Hendrik sighed, a rich, contented sound. “Indeed,” he said.

“Ach, this mountain berry wine is potent!” She closed her eyes. “I hope I dinnae say anything so stupid I regret it later.”

“What could you say that you would regret?”

“Well, for instance…” She took another drink. “Ach, never you mind.”

He bent his arm around her and pulled her in close. “Now I am curious,” he said.

She walked her fingers up his chest under the water, and settled them above his collar bone. “Well, I have wondered… Has there ever been anyone in your life before now? I mean I cannae imagine with your long history of heroism, saving countless people from all manner of evil, that any number of women—and men—havnae thrown themselves at your feet.”

Hendrik went just slightly redder than the hot water had already made him. “Ah. Yes. Well, truth be told, Jasper attracted the vast majority of that sort of attention. But I suppose by proximity…Well, let us say I have not lacked for companionship—though I have never once taken advantage of my standing. Not ever.”

“Of course,” she reassured him. “I wouldnae expect otherwise.”

“But my duties have often had me too isolated or occupied to engage in such things.” He sipped his water. “Though I am loath to admit it, I have certainly read my share of _Ogler’s Digest_ s.”

Beatrice giggled. “Aye, and what’s not to love there? But has there nae been anyone special? In all these years?” When he did not answer right away, she asked, “I cannae help but wonder…the way you speak of him…Were you and Jasper lovers?”

He closed his eyes.

“I told you I’d say something I regretted,” she said.

Finally he said, “I think we would have been, had he not so early fallen under Mordegon’s influence. Certainly I have never loved anyone more.” He sighed. “I did not know what was happening, of course. I believed for years that we were as close as we had ever been. But in time he withdrew from me, and seemed always bitter and angry. I think I was well into grief before I even recognized what he might have been to me.”

She brushed aside his forelock and kissed him, letting silence fall. Then, fortified by another swallow of the potent drink, she said, “But has there been no one else?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You are relentless.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yes. I suppose there was one woman.”

“Aha! At last!” She floated across him and sat on his lap, latching her hands behind his neck and staring into his eyes with rapt attention. “Out with it.”

“Bettony,” he said, poking the tip of her nose with his forefinger. “Her name was Bettony. I met her when I was training under Don Rodrigo in Puerto Valor. She was several years older than I, and far more experienced.” He closed his eyes, remembering, and a smile slipped across his face. “I was out late one night with some of the other trainees, and the Don’s son, Norberto, introduced me to her. He said I needed someone to loosen me up, and would she please do everyone a favor.” He started to laugh. “Dear Yggdrasil, I had completely forgotten about that until just now. Damn you, Sylvando! You have not changed a bit!”

“Sylvando? What’s he got to do with it?”

“I am sorry,” he said, controlling himself. “Sylvando is the name Norberto goes by these days. But I knew him in my youth, back in Puerto Valor. And he is the one who begged Bettony to take me under her wing.”

“Which, clearly, she did.”

He nodded, still grinning. “Those were wonderful times,” he said, wistful. “And while I knew it was never to be serious between us, Bettony was a light for me, and I have never forgotten her.”

“Have you nae seen her since?” Beatrice asked, mildly accusatory.

Hendrik shook his head. “When I was next in Puerto Valor, she had moved away. I have no idea what has become of her.”

“Well, now, we’ll have to remedy that. Because I want to meet this woman and thank her!” She raised her wine glass. “To Duncan and Bettony,” she said, “for making a woman and a man out of us!”

“Duncan? You cannot be saying there has been no one else…”

Beatrice gave him a mock scowl. “Are you daft, man? I’venae been in mourning for close to eighteen years! What do you take me for?”

He ran his finger idly down the outside of her arm, a wry grin on his face. “Come now, it is a fair question, after all of your prying.”

“Aye, true enough. And aye, there have been others. As you said, I’venae ‘lacked for companionship.’ But neither have I found time or motivation to work at building something more. And anyway,” she added, a sly smile creeping across her features, “Duncan may have been a man of few words, but he was a beast in the sack. I’venae found another who could make my body sing the way he did.”

“No one?” he asked, leaning in and gently nipping her earlobe.

She breathed in, short, sharp. “Well, I may have found someone,” she said. “But I think it’s too soon to tell. I need more empirical evidence.”

His lips moved down from her ear to her neck, then to her collar bone. He lifted her in his arms leaning her back in the scented water, and nuzzled first one breast and then the other, pausing to give them each the full attention of his tongue. She groaned and reached for him beneath the water, but he prevented her, holding her hand in his against her side. “Be at ease,” he said, glancing up. “You have been under a great deal of pressure, and I feel it is my duty to…loosen you up.”

He smiled into her chest, then trailed lips and tongue the length of her warm, wet stomach to the hollow of her thigh, while he reached over her and brushed his other hand slowly up from her calf to rest on her hip. She felt herself go weak at his touch, her body beginning to tremble with need. When he lifted her leg over his shoulder and tasted the center of her pleasure with his tongue, a gasping moan escaped her and she threw her arms over her head to brace herself against the side of the pool.

Hendrik held her high on the surface of the water, his hands in the small of her back, and nuzzled the damp silk between her legs, before exploring her most intimate places with his mouth, teasing, nibbling, then slipping his tongue inside her in a shallow rhythm. She mewled and writhed, hands gripping the marble above her head. His lips found her hardness and took it between them, and her vocalizations escalated. She could not help it, even though she knew the walls here were thin. As if reading her mind, Hendrik shifted her body’s buoyant weight into one hand and brought the other to her lips. He slid three fingers over her tongue and she bit down, hard. Rather than react with pain, Hendrik groaned in pleasure and ticked up the speed and depth of his sucking.

Beatrice clamped her thighs around his head, strained against the edge of the pool, arched out of the water, and wailed with every flick of his tongue. Near hysteria seized her and she breathed in ragged gasps as he drew her to the brink. With a half-muffled scream she exploded around him, her release spasming in powerful waves through her belly and thighs.

As she shuddered, he submerged himself in the fragrant water and came back up under and behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head. Her breathing slowed, until at last she heaved a contented sigh. But now he was in need—she could feel his urgency in the small of her back. She pushed upward against his embrace and he loosened his arms, letting her float until she was sitting on his hard abdomen. She reached down between her legs to slide her fingers around his manhood and he drew a sharp breath. She caressed and stroked him, tracing her fingernails lightly on the soft skin in the hollow of his thighs, cradling the hardness of his sac. While she played with him, he cupped her breasts and fastened his lips onto her neck, sending sweet aftershocks through her belly.

When his breathing had quickened, and a low moan rose from his chest, she leaned forward and pulled him inside of her from behind. He let out a ragged groan and pushed against her until she was on her knees in the tub, hands braced on the wall. He moved in her, and she reveled in the way he filled her, the hardness of his chest and stomach against her back, the feel of his beard on the side of her neck. Freed of the need to hold his own weight, his hands roved over her body, caressing and teasing, bringing her back to the edge of ecstasy. She pushed back against him, joining into his rhythm, begging him without words to go deeper, faster, harder. As if in answer, he wrapped an arm around her waist and half stood, driving himself into her with a growl. She cried out her joy and he crashed forward again and again while she held the wall, arms trembling, until her orgasm seized her, drawing another constricted howl from her throat.

He responded with a groan and another great thrust and then, with an animal grunt, his climax burst forth, sending reverberations of pleasure through her. She sank back into the water, her knees settling onto the bottom of the pool. Hendrik rested against her, and she was grateful the bulk of his weight was borne by the liquid around them. She took his hand and brought it to her lips, then held it against her cheek.

At length he withdrew and floated back against the edge of the pool, pulling her with him and cradling her in his arms. He rested his head on her shoulder and she leaned into him filled with such warmth, peace, and contentment it made her want to cry. She had not realized just how much had been missing from her life, how desperately she needed this kind of connection to another human being.

He turned and kissed her on the side of the neck and she smiled. “Empirical evidence?” he asked. “I am certain everyone in l’auberge is quite convinced of my ability to make your body sing.” He shook with laughter.

“Aye, smart arse,” she growled, slapping him on the ear. “I dinnae know how you can be so quiet about it.”

“Practice,” he replied.

“ _Ogler’s Digest_ ,” she said, and dissolved into giggles. “Damn this wine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * the inn


	16. Chapter 16

_ The Dark Books: Day 57 _

Beatrice

They passed five days in mountain hikes, exquisite meals, hot spring soaks, and passionate love-making. By the end of the week, Beatrice was not certain she ever wanted to return to Sniflheim, but she knew she had no choice. Though she still could not see the whole pattern, she knew that somehow she was being called to fight whatever evil lay waiting for her in the library.

Even so, she secretly hoped their ship would be becalmed, so she could spend more time on the deck with Hendrik, nestled in his arms, watching the stars slip by overhead. They spoke of happy times in their youth, and Beatrice found she could even tell stories about her seven rambunctious younger siblings without being dragged back into grief. Hendrik spoke freely of Jasper and their various adolescent escapades, and the way King Carnelian’s generosity had changed his life.

When they reached Queen Frysabel’s palace, Lars rushed out to greet them. Beatrice gave him a hug and presented him with a paper-bound book of drawings of the Champs Sauvage before sending him off to his supper.

Just inside the gates, Hendrik took her hands in his, his eyes holding regret. “I am afraid our vacation is at an end. I must check in with Oskar and find out if there have been any developments.”

She nodded, returning his sad gaze. “Of course. I’ll be dining with Her Majesty and Krystalinda. I imagine you’ll take your meal with the garrison?”

“Yes. But I will see you in the morning and plan to ride out with you and Lars to the library at half eight.” He bent to kiss her and she reached up to caress his cheek. “Good night, My Beatrice.”

“Good night.”

_ The Dark Books: Day 58 _

Beatrice

The six black books lay just where she had left them, spread across the long table in the inner sanctum, with their corresponding notes beside them. Pile by pile, she read back through her own handwritten comments, rolling them over and over in her mind. She had asked each of the volunteers to read them in her absence, and report on anything they noticed that might cast light on the task at hand. While their sharp minds had recognized a few connections she had not, nothing had risen to the surface that brought her any closer to discovering a key save one little detail.

All six books were entirely different from one another except for a single couplet:

_Boast in oblation to taboo saint, a boon in sin obtain;  
Stab talon into stolid idol, til bloodstain on slab is lain._

It was found in a different location in each book, and that location appeared to be entirely random. Beatrice guessed it was the one physical action to the ritual—some kind of bloodletting, but by whom and from whom she had yet to decipher. And was everyone to read it? Or perform it? All at once, determining at which point each book should be started? That seemed too simple, and hardly required any sort of key. The detail was tantalizing, but woefully insufficient. She would have to continue her studies, and as soon as possible, make another attempt at a choral reading.

At midmorning, everyone was busy with their cataloguing work except for Lars, who she had asked to stay with her while she continued to read through the latest book discovered. Greed.

“I don’t like it,” he told her.

“What’s that?”

He clenched his fists. “I’m afraid of what might happen to you if you keep reading those. They make you think and feel terrible things. I know.”

Beatrice sighed. “That’s why I need you here, Lad. To break me out of it when it’s time for lunch.” She ruffled his white-blonde hair. “If you dinnae want to do it, I understand. I can ask one of the others to sit with me.”

“No,” he said, and she could see the conflict in his face. “Because if you say something out loud…they’ll feel it, too. And…and what if it makes them want to hurt you?”

She took his hands. “Look at me,” she said, and he complied. “I know you want to protect me. But Lars, you’re only thirteen. You cannae take on that kind of responsibility. Because if something does happen to me, you’ll spend a lifetime blaming yourself. And that’s nae fair to you. Understand?”

“Yes. But—”

“I have to do this, Lad. I’m certain of that. You’ll just have to trust me. Now, do you want to stay? Or would you rather I called Avila?”

Lars looked at the books on the table and frowned. “I’ll stay,” he said. He walked around her and pulled out a chair. “Just don’t read out loud by accident.”

She smiled. “I’ll do my best.” She pulled on a clean pair of gloves and slid her finger under the piece of parchment that held the last page she’d been studying. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mind and focused her eyes on the text. Immediately, she was overcome by a powerful desire to sell her unmatched skills to the highest bidder, no, to sell these books and their secrets to whoever could meet her price. She could build a palace—no, a city!—and disappear with Hendrik forever into a life of luxury.

Relentless, the avarice tugged at her, but she pressed on, accepting its darkness so that it would not hinder her. She read on, the nonsensical words rising from the page, dancing patterns in her mind’s eye, drawing her, leading her. But where? She circled back and back again as the glyphs floated before her. She lost all sense of time, her whole self reduced to the confines of the text. Had it been minutes? Hours? Days?

_Spin epics, concupiscent poet, to tie pious ones supine;  
unite in coitus, set upon scion in open nest_

There it was. The concupiscent poet. Lust. She had seen him referenced on the first page. Which meant… She turned back to the beginning and located the connection.

 _Continue piteous conceits, cue tension, stun stoic ones;  
_ _Put spite into sonnet, concupiscent poet._

The map crystalized in her mind, a pulse radiating from one of the unreachable shelves above the inner sanctum. She pushed away from the book and closed her eyes, re-centering herself in the present moment, letting the gnawing greed ebb from her gut.

“Ach, it would have to be _there_ ,” she muttered.

Lars put down his quill pen. “Did you find the last one?” His voice held a mix of eagerness and unease.

“Aye,” she said, “but it’s on one of those ridiculous shelves hanging above this room. The ones you cannae reach unless you have wings.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d still love to throttle the sadist who built this daft place.”

“Maybe it was built by someone with wings,” Lars said, his youthful mind open to possibilities. Beatrice grinned.

“You’re right brilliant, you know that, Lad? Still, it doesnae change the fact that we have to find a way to reach the damn thing without having wings ourselves.” She pushed to her feet and strode out of the room, Lars at her heels. They climbed the stairs to the uppermost level and crossed the bridge to the top of the Special Collection. Midday sunlight streamed in through the great window in the domed ceiling, bathing the platform in warmth. Beatrice stopped at the switch in the center and closed her eyes. She let go of her thoughts, unfocusing her mind and opening herself to the chaotic energy of the library.

_Continue piteous conceits, cue tension, stun stoic ones;_

The words drifted through her and wove themselves with the silent cacophony of thought, feeling, color, darkness, and a fluttering of wings…her own wings—in a vision, dark purple and dragon-like, lifting her from the ground. A pulse welled up from beneath her, a jagged cadence to match the frayed edges of the leathery appendages stretching from her shoulder blades. She turned in a slow circle until she could feel it calling her forward. While her mind hovered, her body dropped to the floor and she crawled toward the edge of the platform.

“Beatrice, stop!” shouted Lars, quick feet pelting across the floor.

“Hold my ankles, Lad,” she said, opening her eyes. “I dinnae think it’s that far down.”

He wrapped both his small hands around one ankle, his grip stronger than she thought possible, and she felt gratitude wash through her. She inched further out onto the top of one of the protruding shelves, and laid herself flat on the wood, then pulled herself to the cusp and beyond, until her head and shoulders extended out over the sixty-foot drop to the marble floor below. Closing her eyes again, she reached one arm over the side and let it dangle. The pulse tugged at her and she felt her hand begin to swing slowly back and forth, gloved fingers brushing the spines of the books beneath her.

 _There_. She touched the top corner of it—it lay just out of reach, another shelf down. “Fucking curse ye, ye radge wee shite*!” she shouted at it, rage bringing out her wildest Drasilian.

“What?” Lars called.

“I cannae reach it! I need another few inches.”

She felt his hands around her ankle grip more tightly.

“Ow! Dinnae break my bones ye numpty**!” She pulled against him, straining for the book. Another inch. Another.

“Beatrice! I have nothing to hang onto up here! Don’t go any—”

“Got it!” she shouted. “Pull me up!”

He hauled her backward with surprising strength, but Beatrice was hardly aware of anything other than the throbbing of the book through her arms and up into her chest. Her head was full with it. Why it did not stop chanting its out-of-time whispers into her ears now that she held it, as all the others had?

The others. The set was now complete. They somehow knew they had all been found, that they were being reunited for their intended purpose. She realized they must all be lending their calls into the woven chaos in her head.

The moment her body was entirely on level ground, she rolled to her knees and dropped the book in front of her, gasping for breath. The noise in her brain instantly ceased. “Ach, I’m fair pucked***,” she panted.

Lars knelt in front of her. “What?”

“Sorry lad. That’s the old country coming out.” She plopped into a cross-legged sit and waited until she recovered her equilibrium. “Thanks for your help.”

He shook his head. “You’re welcome, I guess. But you really scared me! What if you had fallen?”

She frowned. “You had nothing to brace yourself against. And you’re a boy of thirteen—a strong boy, true enough, but I’m no dainty lass. Is it logical that you were able to keep hold of me just then?” she asked.

Lars thought about it. “What are you saying?”

“I cannae help but think the books wouldnae have let me fall.” It was a bizarre thought, but as she spoke it aloud, she knew it to be right. Suddenly a wave of fear washed over her, and the question of predetermination landed in the center of her chest. Did she have a choice in any of this? Was she just re-enacting some long-ago story that would inevitably bring evil into the world? No. She had to believe she had some control over the events that lay ahead. _Had_ to believe that delving into these books and wresting their secrets from them would somehow prevent a sinister future. Surely the books had told her that themselves, though they had not wanted to.

“Are you alright?”

Beatrice looked up into Lars’ wide eyes. She shook off her inner turmoil. “Aye, Lad. Just tired. Probably a little shaken myself by the right idiotic thing I just did.” She got to her feet and gestured to the black volume on the floor. “Can you carry that? I’ve a mind not to touch it at the moment.”

Obediently, Lars pulled his gloves out of his pocket and put them on, then lifted the ancient text with practiced care. Beatrice smiled, proud of the way he had not let the unsettling events of the past few minutes distract him from the proper protocols. She patted him on the shoulder and they walked back to the inner sanctum together.

Hendrik

“We’ve all seven books in the set, now,” Beatrice told the assembled dinner party. It was only Frysabel, Krystalinda, Hendrik, Oskar with her, more of a strategy meeting than a festive occasion. Hendrik had requested they limit the guests so they could speak freely about their progress.

The Queen pushed up her glasses. “So what does that mean?”

“I’m still nae sure,” Beatrice admitted. “I’ve finished reading all of them individually, save for the newest one, and I’ve begun to cross reference the patterns that have emerged. But there’s also the matter of choral reading, which is when I get real glimpses of the greater picture.”

Hendrik frowned, remembering her last collapse, and said, “It is also when you are most at risk.”

“Aye, I know it. But now that the set is complete, I’m afraid even reading the individual books will have a more potent effect on me. I felt it as soon as I held the last one in my hand.”

“This is something even I have never experienced,” Krystalinda said, her elegant hand on her chin. “And these books were in that library all this time?”

Queen Frysabel shot her a glare. “I know that look,” she said. “Haven’t you had your fill of magical books?”

“Fair point,” the ice witch responded with a coquettish smile. “In any case, I don’t suppose I could help in some way.”

“I think that would be a bad idea,” said Frysabel, and turned to the rest of the group. “Any others?”

Oskar dabbed at his mouth with the fine linen napkin. Hendrik could tell the soldier was uncomfortable, out of his element dining in the presence of his queen. But he remained poised, and Hendrik knew his keen mind was more on the issue at hand than on his discomfiture. The younger man said, “Why not interrogate Markus again? Perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming now that all the books have been found?”

“You can try, I suppose,” Beatrice said. “But I didnae get the sense from him that he knew any more about these books than he told me at the very beginning.” She betrayed no emotion at the recollection of that terrible day and Hendrik felt a mix of relief and satisfaction.

Oskar said, “It is something more than just speculating, and I am feeling a need for action.”

“That is commendable, Oskar,” Queen Frysabel said, favoring him with a smile. “Go and speak with him in the morning.” She turned to Hendrik. “Will you join him?”

“I am afraid I cannot,” he replied. “Oskar is well capable of the task. I am best employed providing what protection I can to Beatrice in the library.” He tried not to think of just how powerless he was to do just that, when the danger was invisible to him.

_ The Dark Books: Day 59 _

Hendrik

The next day saw Hendrik standing idle in the inner sanctum while Beatrice and the other volunteers pored over the ancient volumes. The room was silent save for the crackling of the fire and the occasional scratch of quill tips on parchment. He observed each of them as they read, and could almost guess who had which text. Shinobu leaned heavily on her arm as she worked, eyes heavy, now and then letting loose an enormous yawn. Avila’s pretty face was contorted into a scowl, and her hand was clenched around the quill so tightly he was just waiting for it to snap. Cedric kept reaching over to the plate of lingonberry scones, occasionally remembering to sweep the crumbs off his work surface. Barclay wore an insufferably smug expression, while Helena and Sesqui’s demeanors appeared merely tense, so he could not tell who had greed and who had envy.

Beatrice, of course, was pages deep into the newest discovery: Lust. Even if she had not warned him, he would have known simply by the way her neck was mottled with heat, as it always was when she was aroused. Never mind the fact of her quick breathing and the occasional low moan that slipped from her throat. At this point the others all seemed far too engrossed in their own communion with the vile texts to notice, but he knew well the way her vocalizations escalated with her excitation.

He watched as her hand clenched into a claw and dragged across the table surface. He experienced a flash of the feeling of her nails in his back, and a sudden response from beneath his tunic. This might be dangerous for him just in proximity! Perhaps a short walk. Clearly there was nothing to be worried about in the inner sanctum at the moment.

From the bridge outside the entrance, he could see Lars far down below, carrying a stack of volumes to a pile by the center column. Four more women and two men, including Snorri, were somewhere in the building, dutifully recording information at shelves scattered among the floors. Two of them were in view from where he stood. He stretched and glanced up at the skylight, marveling at the way its construction diffused the harsh rays and kept them from directly hitting the leather bindings of the books that surrounded him. He yawned. Was he really needed here? Perhaps he should have gone with Oskar to interrogate Markus. So long as the books weren’t being read chorally, was there any real danger?

A creak and a thud from far below heralded the arrival of Oskar on running feet. Hendrik strode swiftly and silently to the staircase, hastening to meet him, rather than calling out and disturbing all the scholars hard at work.

They met on the second floor. Oskar was paler than Hendrik would have thought possible. “What news?” Hendrik asked, concerned. “Has Markus given us anything helpful?”

Oskar shook his head. “Not Markus. News far more dire. Dundrasil is under siege.”

Ice swept through Hendrik’s gut. “Explain yourself, man!”

“Six nights since. A monster horde of incalculable size. A messenger just arrived having ridden the emergency relay from Heliodor.”

The words had scarce left Oskar’s lips before Hendrik bolted for Obsidian. “Get Beatrice!” he called back to the guardsman. “Tell her to meet me at the palace!”

Hendrik

Hendrik paced, his horse already prepared for the journey.

Before collapsing from sheer exhaustion, the messenger had issued a summons from King Carnelian and Princess Jade for Hendrik to lead a battalion against the monster army, and Hendrik had immediately begun to assemble his gear. Frysabel had offered to send some of her own men into the fray, and it was for them he was impatiently waiting. Oskar had volunteered, but Hendrik declined.

“You are needed here,” he had said. “Sniflheim and those working in the Royal Library are counting on you for protection.”

Oskar had given him a knowing look. “I will not let them down.”

Now the sound of clanking armor and weapons, jingling horse tack and excited conversation filled the stable around him. How long was it going to take these men? And where was Beatrice?

As if in answer, she appeared in the doorway, her expression stricken. She ran across the space between them, and took his hands. “A siege! Dear Yggdrasil! What manner of evil is this?” she asked.

“I am so sorry,” he said, distraught.

She shook her head. “Dinnae apologize. I’ve always known your highest loyalty. You must go to him.”

“Beatrice—”

She held a finger to his lips. “Be at peace.”

“How can I be at peace while you are tangled up in this wretched task? Please. You must promise me you will not read the texts aloud while I am gone.”

“And how long will that be? If dark forces are already on the move so brazenly, are we nae up against the clock?”

He clenched his jaw, frustration rising in his chest. “I cannot know for certain. But I cannot focus on this crisis else, and I cannot bear the thought that I might fail you both.”

“Ach. I see.” She closed her eyes, thinking, and then, “Aye. You have my word. I’llnae attempt any choral readings until I hear news from you. There is plenty to mine in the texts individually for a time.”

Relief flooded through him and he began to pull her into an embrace, but she stopped him. He looked down to see her eyes, hard, but beginning to redden along the lower lid. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You promise _me_ something, now,” she said. “Promise you’ll do everything in your power to come back to me alive.”

She knew if it would be required he must lay down his life for the Luminary; she had asked him only to do what was in his own power. His heart ached at her understanding, her willingness to let him do his sworn duty. He felt tears begin to threaten. “You have my word,” he said, and his voice cracked at the end.

“One more thing,” she said, “and I’ll let you on your way.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

She, too, seemed to be struggling, her eyes growing glassy. “I didnae think…” She stopped, started again. “I thought…” She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks, and tiptoed to kiss him. He crushed her in his arms, covering her mouth with his, kissing her with a desperate passion. She returned his urgency, her hands grasping at his tunic as if she would never let him go.

A voice called out, “We are ready, Sir Hendrik,” and his heart quailed within him. She went limp in his embrace, as if resigned to him releasing her.

But as he pulled away, she looked directly into his eyes and said, “I love you.”

Words he had not heard in nearly three decades, and had never thought he would again. _Dear Yggdrasil._ The tears fell, and he would not be ashamed of them. He opened his mouth, but she ducked away from him and disappeared through the stable doors.

_**End of Part One** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * …you crazy shit! (usually said about a person, not a book, but she’s pissed)
> 
> ** idiot
> 
> *** out of breath


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Rape

**Part Two**

**The Siege of Dundrasil**

\---

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 6 _

Hendrik

Hendrik rode out, two dozen men behind him. At the fastest pace he could wisely manage, he was six days out of Dundrasil, and even so, he would arrive at the front depleted and well ahead of the supply wagons trailing them. He at least had his own horse cart—a lightweight conveyance he’d had specially crafted so as not to tire Obsidian—containing his arms, armor, and a few personal effects. He might arrive at the front tired, but he would not be unprepared.

But what would he find there? The Heliodorian army was mobilizing under the command of his successor, Sir Aldrich, and messengers had been sent to Puerto Valor, and Octagonia, though the latter had little in the way of military might. Even if everyone managed to assemble, would they have nearly the numbers they would need for a frontal assault?

Princess Jade had penned Hendrik a personal note to let him know she would be sending messages to Sylvando, Serena, and Veronica to meet them outside Dundrasil. El, Erik, and Lord Robert were all within the walls—had the walls even been completed yet? He had no information save that the hostile force was too large to even estimate its size. And that was no information at all! He had nothing to set his mind to, only the raw urgency that drove him onward.

He could not bear to think about what he had left behind.

Elvan

“He’s gone,” Markus said.

Elvan was actually impressed. “What unbelievable timing. Oskar was just down here this morning telling me the last book had been found. Idiot.”

“And the siege a full six days ago! This can’t be coincidence. The Dark One has a hand in this.”

“The Dark One is dead,” Elvan said, frowning. “But I have to admit, this looks like a sign that it’s our destiny to bring him back _now_.”

Markus sneered. “Of course,” he snapped. “That was never in doubt.”

Elvan rolled his eyes at his compatriot’s arrogance. “Sure. So when do we move?”

“Tomorrow. Early afternoon. I’ll make certain you have what you need.”

“Can’t wait.”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 7, Afternoon _

Beatrice

Beatrice had awoken with an ache in her chest, knowing Hendrik would not be joining her for breakfast, or riding out with her to the library. After lunch, she’d retreated to the inner sanctum, leaving the volunteers to play in the snow following their morning’s work on the dark books. She couldn’t bring herself to just stand there and listen to the laughter—maybe she would find solace in words. She read a few pages of an unidentified book Shinobu had found on the second floor, trying to tease out information on era and authorship from the text, but after finding herself re-reading the same paragraph a third time, she sighed and let the cover close. There was no way she could concentrate knowing that Hendrik was riding into Yggdrasil-knew-what. Of course she had no doubts about his abilities—he was the celebrated hero of Heliodor, veteran of countless battles, and partially responsible for taking down the greatest evil the world had known. It was just hard to be rational when…

Tears threatened again and she growled at herself. “That’s enough right there, Beatrice of Dundrasil,” she said. “You’re no simpering maiden, and you have work to do.”

“Do you often talk to yourself when you’re alone?”

She looked up and swiped at her eyes. “Ach, Cedric. You must think me deid daft.”

“Aye, but genius usually is,” he said, his cane thumping on the marble as he crossed the room.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

He smiled, his dark brows peaked in sympathy over his glasses. “Actually I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you,” he said. “You’ve looked like you’re on the verge of sobbing all day, except when everyone was engrossed in those.” He gestured with his cane to the long table.

“Aye, I’m not at my best. But I was hoping I wouldnae distract anyone else from their work.” She pushed back in her chair. “Dinnae worry about me. I’ll get ahold of myself before long.”

“But I do worry. I…” He frowned, as if searching for the words. “I’ve crossed paths with more than a few Drasilian refugees over the years,” he said, “but I’venae encountered anyone like you.”

 _Fucking shite_ , Beatrice thought. _Not this. Not now._

“Nonsense. I’m nae more unique than anyone else. Come now, wouldn’t you rather be out in the fresh air?” She needed to distract him, to get him out of the room. She was not prepared to have this conversation with him in her mental state.

Cedric walked slowly around the table, staring down at each of the books as he passed them. “I dinnae know why you would think you’re nae unique,” he said. “You’re all the best Dundrasil ever had to offer. And so kind to me. How could I nae be drawn to you?” He stopped and picked up the book of lust.

“Cedric!” she snapped. “That text is ancient! Put on your gloves before you touch it. You know that!”

He stopped and looked at her with a wistful frown. “Don’t you see? Maybe if we read this together you’ll understand how I feel about you.”

“Are ye a complete dafty? I’m in love with Sir Hendrik of Dundrasil. I thought that was plain to see.”

“He’s no Drasilian!” Cedric growled.

Beatrice growled back, “Aye, he is now. He serves the crown prince and makes his home in the new city.”

“It’s nae the same. And anyway, the man’s a fighter, not a scholar.”

“That’s enough,” she said, “I dinnae need to justify anything to you. We’re nae having this conversation anymore. Now put that book down and go take a walk to cool your head.”

Cedric paused for a heartbeat. Two. Then he opened the book and began to read.

Lars

The sound of galloping hooves drew Lars’ eyes across the field. As he watched, Oskar came pounding toward them at speed.

“Ho, Oskar!” called Snorri. “What news?”

“Everyone back to the palace,” the guardsman shouted, his strident voice carrying. “Markus has escaped and we believe he is bound for the library. Stay together. We have no idea what his plan might be.”

Lars froze, a flash of terror seizing him. _Not again!_ This time he would not leave Beatrice. No matter what! He turned and bolted for the doors.

Oskar swung down off his horse and caught Lars on the shoulder just as he reached the steps. “Where are you going? You need to go with the others,” he said.

“I have to warn Beatrice!”

“That’s why I’m here. I’ll be sure she gets back safely.”

Lars pushed at the hand on his arm. “No! I won’t leave her again.”

“Listen to me. You’re only a boy and you’ll just get in the way. Get out with the others and leave this to me.” He gave Lars a small shove back toward the land bridge and stood with his arms crossed. “Hurry!” he said.

Lars nodded and with a final glance upward, slunk away.

As soon as he heard Oskar’s feet tramp through the doorway, he swung around and followed. Something was not right. Frysabel’s captain had never spoken that way to him before. It was more than urgency—he’d seen that in Oskar before. No, this…this was just…wrong somehow.

Lars moved as quickly and as quietly as he could, slipping into the stairwell and waiting until he heard the booted footfalls receding above him. He tripped up the stairs and peeked through the arch to see Oskar moving north along the outer walkway at a casual pace toward the switch. Whipping off his boots and tucking them under his arm, Lars darted to the left and ran as fast as he dared, skidding on his stocking feet into the south alcove and flattening himself against the west wall. He peered out again to see Oskar about to be eclipsed by the center column. He knew his best bet was to wait until the third floor switch was activated. But there would be a few times it would be a miracle if Oskar didn’t look down and see him. He would have to hope there was enough of an angle in the alcove walls to shield his slight figure if he stood as far back as he could in the corners.

The eastern span began to rise and fold itself into a staircase and he watched, heart thundering in his chest, as Frysabel’s captain reached the center column and curved around to the south—he had only to glance to his right to see Lars. The boy broke into a sweat.

From above them, he heard a shout. Beatrice! His pulse ticked up and he shoved down the urge to run. But the distraction saved him—Oskar glanced upward and hurried his steps to the staircase. Lars forced himself to breathe normally as the guardsman trotted north from the top of the stairs to the last switch. When the bridge to the inner sanctum came to rest in its final position, Oskar could easily look down and spot him on the west wall, so Lars scooted across the alcove and hugged the east one.

From above him, he heard Beatrice shout, “No!” and adrenaline surged through him. _Hurry! For goodness’ sake hurry!_ He felt the rotation of the walls and spans again, relieved to see the bridge to the third floor click into place a few short yards away.

No longer caring whether Oskar saw him, he ran across the second level bridge, around the center column, and up the stairs, banking right at the top and sprinting the last few yards. He drew his sword as he ran—he had made a promise to protect Beatrice and he would not fail her again!

Just as he reached the far end of the span, the door to the inner sanctum closed with a dull thud.

Beatrice

Cedric walked towards her as he read.

_Spin poison, posies, spin nooses on spies;  
Pose possession, one soon sips sin, opens in noise._

Desire flashed through Beatrice, an intense need to possess the Drasilian antiques dealer. “Put that down. This isnae the way to win me!”

He was only a foot away from her now, and she retreated a step, desperately trying to formulate a plan of action amid the haze of confusion being conjured in her head. Her hand went to the dagger in her belt, but she didn’t want to hurt him. He was only a misguided soul.

_Incite excitation, coax ice into exotic action;  
Exact notice, intoxicate an ocean, taint an intact one!_

She fought against the waves of need gathering in her loins, the heady call of the words clouding her mind. Fury flashed in her chest. “Stop it, ye roaster! How dare ye!” Devil take it, she _wanted_ him! He closed the distance between them and she lashed out, knocking the book from his hands. It slapped to the marble and skidded across the floor towards the doorway. The dark desire ceased.

But now Cedric had her backed against a shelf. He grabbed her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her. She again thought of her dagger. _No! His glasses!_ She could incapacitate him in an instant that way! She twisted in his grasp and slapped him hard on the face, sending the blue lenses flying. She waited for the terrible cry of pain but it didn’t come. Confused, she turned back to look him in the eyes.

Hard, cruel eyes. Yellow-grey and flinty.

Markus.

Panic seized her body, shooting fire into her limbs. “No!” she cried, and he grinned at her with pure malice.

“Stupid woman,” he said, pushing his full weight against her and grabbing for her arms.

She brought her knee up as hard as she could into his groin and shoved him away with all her might.

“OW! FUCK!” he yelled, doubling over. She ran, but he grabbed her skirts and yanked, sending her sprawling. Kicking wildly, she tore out of his grasp and scrambled to her feet, whipping her dagger out of its sheath.

Still bent over, he lunged for her and caught hold of her wrist, spun her full weight around him, and launched her into the wall. Pain exploded in her forehead and collar bone as they crashed into protruding shelves. She bounced off and fell. Dragging herself up on a lower shelf, she rolled her body around against the uneven surface, frantically searching for him, her blade ready to strike.

Markus leaned on his knees, panting hard. “Come on, then, try to stab me.” Despite his obvious pain, he was still grinning at her, still exuding hateful arrogance. She slunk away from him along the perimeter of the room, moving toward the doorway, certain that at any moment he would attack.

Footsteps came running across the bridge outside.

“Oskar!” she shouted, relief flooding through her. She pointed with her dagger. “That’s Markus!”

The guardsman stopped inside the doorway and frowned. “Markus, Markus. How careless. Did she kick you in the balls, man?”

“Oh shut up,” he growled. “Make yourself useful.”

_What?_

Oskar reached out a hand and activated the switch closing the door and sealing them off from the rest of the library.

“Oskar! What are you doing?”

The young man bent to pick up the dark book at his feet and thumbed through it. “Dear _Yggdrasil_ this is potent stuff.”

Markus straightened and stretched his shoulders. “Just read it,” he said. “And keep your hands to yourself.” He turned to Beatrice, “Now where were we?”

Oskar began reading the text aloud, and the words manifested in Beatrice's mind as silken scarves, wrapping around her and drawing her into a state of intense arousal. “No!” she shrieked, fighting against it with everything in her.

Her assailant reached her in three strides, clamping his powerful hands around her upper arms and holding her against the wall while he covered her mouth with his, prying her lips apart with his tongue. She willed herself rigid against him, hatred seething in her, but her body responded, desire pounding in her chest and in her limbs and between her legs. With her whole mental strength, she closed against the battering words and stabbed upward with her blade.

A guttural scream and a sticky warmth on her hand rewarded her effort. Markus recoiled, clutching his side, then lashed out with his other hand, striking her across the face with such force she crashed to the ground and slid, tasting blood.

The reading stopped and a bored voice asked, “You okay there, Markus?”

“Fuck you!” came the roared reply. “Get over here!”

Oskar reached out a hand and covered the wound, then murmured some strange, garbled-sounding words. “All better,” he said, and opened the book again.

Beatrice’s heart quailed within her, all hope extinguished. With her rage-fueled strength spent and her head addled by brutal force and dark magic, all that remained was terror. She pushed herself up and crawled for the switch, but Markus caught her around the waist and lifted her. She kicked against him, twisting her body and slashing at him again.

“Read, damn it!” he growled, and Oskar resumed.

Beatrice cried out as the clutching lust and rekindled indignation warred for dominance over the paralyzing fear. Markus wrested the dagger from her fingers and threw it across the room, then slammed her body down on the long table, scattering books and notes in every direction.

“I am going to enjoy this,” he hissed, his breath hot in her face. “And so will you.”

She lashed out with her fists, but he seized them and smashed them onto the hard wood, drawing a cry of pain, but also of sick pleasure. He wrapped one powerful hand around both wrists and held them above her head. She writhed in his grasp, kicking outward, but to no avail. With his other hand, he slid down the length of one leg and drew up her skirts, laying them over her chest, leaving her exposed before him.

 _Oh, Yggdrasil!_ She wanted him! Wanted him to take her by force! She had to fight this, had to push back against the dark lies, the horrible, evil magic that had hold of her. She could _not_ give up, could _not_ give in! _Please, Yggdrasil! Put me back in my right mind!_ How could she ever bear it? How would she be able to tell him she had wanted it? Him? Who? Who would she have to tell? There was only Markus, only his masterful strength, his masculine scent, the promise of his satiating power.

No. There was someone else. Someone she loved.

“HENDRIK!” she screamed, and the fog cleared as if Oskar had stopped reading.

Markus laughed, a terrible, hateful sound, but she did not care. He would not win. She would not let him.

Beatrice went still and silent. He would get no satisfaction from her.

He seemed not to notice, as he remained in the thrall of the book’s power. With a look of sheer self-satisfaction, he unlaced his breeches and let them fall. She closed her eyes and willed herself to see Hendrik’s, to be elsewhere, safe. She could not help but wince when he entered her, and tears came unbidden and uncontrollable as he thrust madly before crowing out his victory and then falling upon her, spent.

He pulled away and she rolled over on the table and vomited onto the floor. Her body shook uncontrollably as the adrenaline wore off and the pain of his battering began to take hold. She could not stop her sobbing, and curled her knees up into her chest.

A moment later, Markus pulled her up to a sitting position by her hair. “Drink this,” he ordered, holding a flask to her lips. Too exhausted to fight anymore, she obeyed, and gagged as the sour wine hit her throat. She swallowed once, twice, and he pulled the vessel away, letting her slump to the table again.

“Gather the books,” he said to Oskar. “The others will reach the palace shortly but it will be some time before they figure out what’s happened. I estimate we have at least a two hour start. We’ll easily make our ride before they start searching for us.”

“You can stop ordering me around anytime now,” came the petulant reply.

Beatrice felt her limbs go numb and her consciousness begin slipping away from whatever they’d given her to drink; she would welcome oblivion over this mental agony. Vaguely she felt Markus binding her wrists before everything faded to black.


	18. Chapter 18

Lars

Lars heard the muffled screaming through the thick, shelf-covered walls of the inner sanctum, and forced back tears. When everything had gone silent, he crouched, ready to fight, his sword poised, just as Hendrik had taught him.

The door rose upward until Oskar and Cedric stood before him. Beatrice hung limp over Cedric’s shoulder, bound hand and foot, while Oskar carried the seven dark books in his arms.

Lars gaped, unable to grasp what he was seeing. Where were Cedric’s glasses?

A mean smile slipped across the Drasilian’s lips. “Ah yes, the little shit who thwarted my first attempt at obtaining the books.” Wait. He sounded completely different.

“This brat?” Oskar laughed. “Looks like the little hero is back to try again.”

Realization dawned. “Put her down, Markus,” Lars spat, raising his weapon.

“Oh, now that’s interesting,” Markus said. “You’re as quick on the uptake as Beatrice always said.”

“And I’ll bet _you_ bleed green!” the boy shouted, swinging his body and bringing his blade down on Oskar’s arm. The guardsman’s reflexes weren’t quite fast enough, and he roared in pain as the edge of the weapon bit into the back of his hand, sending a spray of dark green liquid into the air.

Markus scowled. “Now that’s enough. Get out of the way or you won’t see fourteen.” He thumbed a switch on the end of his cane and a cruel barb shot out from the bottom.

With youthful speed, Lars spun back to the right and slashed upward, knocking the weapon from Markus’ hand and sending it tumbling over the edge of the bridge.

While Lars was still in his follow through, Markus let out an enraged growl and lashed out with a booted foot, lifting Lars off the ground and setting him sailing backward onto the floor. His sword flew out of his hand and crashed into the rail, where Oskar leapt upon it and tossed it off the edge. “No!” the boy screamed, scrambling backward across the bridge.

The men bore down on him and he rolled over, desperately trying to regain his feet. Markus’ foot slammed down on his back and pinned the boy under his full weight. Lars gasped air, still trying to pull himself away with his arms.

“You have failed her this time, Lars,” Markus said. “Beatrice is mine.” He raised his second foot and kicked hard into the boy’s temple.

Blinding pain shot through Lars’ head and neck. Then nothing.

Lars

When he regained consciousness, he was being jostled about terribly, the bumping sending pain and nausea through him. “S-s-s-top!” he croaked, and the motion abruptly ceased.

“Lars? Lars? Oh! Oh thank goodness!”

He opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight. Silhouetted above him was an enormous dragon’s head, whiskers quivering with emotion. “Sesqui? Wha…what happened?”

Sesqui was holding the boy in his massive arms. “I found you in the library. I saw you go back when everyone else was leaving and I just had a bad feeling. But…” He hung his head in shame. “I was too afraid to go in after you. I hid around the side of the building and waited. Then Cedric and Oskar came out with Beatrice and…and well I just new something terrible was going on! They got on Oskar and Beatrice’s horses and headed for the Hekswood.” He took an emotional breath. “I was afraid the worst had happened to you! So I ran inside and I found you on the third floor bridge. I thought you were dead!” He choked back a sob. “But then I saw you were breathing so I picked you up and just started running for the palace.”

Lars nodded. “Put me down, please,” he said. “I think it will be less painful if I run myself.”

“Oh, can you?”

Lars tried, and while the jarring caused some discomfort, it was better than when Sesqui was holding him. “Let’s go!” he cried, speeding up to a sprint.

Sesqui’s long legs kept outdistancing his human friend, and he was forced to slow down to keep pace, but he didn’t complain.

“Cedric was Markus,” Lars said as they went. “And Oskar was Elvan, the sherpent.”

“Oh! Oh, No! Beatrice!” The professaurus sped up instinctively, then slowed to wait for Lars.

“Fuck this!” the boy cried. “Let me get on your back.”

Sesqui dropped to all fours and Lars scrambled up, throwing his arms around the dragon’s neck.

“RUN!” he shouted, and Sesqui took off, bounding across the snow-covered plain at breathtaking speed. They covered the distance to Sniflheim Palace in a fraction of the time it would’ve taken Lars to run it, especially in his state of injury. And as it was, the pain was far less going piggy-back than it had been even when he’d been running on his own.

When they reached the gates, Lars swung down and tore into the courtyard, bounding up the steps into the front hall. The other volunteers milled about in knots of three or four, heads down in quiet conversation. They turned as one when Lars burst in bellowing, “Queen Frysabel! Krystalinda!!!”

“What is it?” called Barclay.

Lars ignored him, barreling toward the throne room.

The doors opened and the queen herself stood just within, her blue eyes nearly as big as her glasses. “Lars! What’s happened? Where is Beatrice?”

“Taken!” he shouted. “Cedric was actually Markus all along! And Elvan was masquerading as Oskar!”

A murmur of shock and horror reverberated through the volunteers now crowding in behind Lars.

“Oskar!” Frysabel exclaimed, what little color she possessed draining from her face. “But what has happened to the real Oskar, then?”

Ice settled in Lars’ gut. “The dungeon!” he cried, and bolted.

“Lars! Wait!” cried the queen, but he couldn’t. Behind him, he heard Sesqui begin to fill the others in on what had happened. The sound of his friend’s voice faded as he flew through the soldiers’ barracks and down into the dank passages beneath the outbuildings. He clutched the wall as he descended, not waiting for his eyes to adjust to the guttering lantern light. He burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs and shouted out, “Oskar! Oskar!”

“Here!” came the groggy reply, and relief flooded through him.

He followed the voice to the solitary cell behind a second door at the end of the passage. When the door opened, he was assailed with a foul smell and batted at his nose. Oskar lay naked on the floor of the little enclosure behind the bars, blood caked on the side of his head and pooled around his arm. A few feet from him was a pile of what looked like bloody skin and hair. “Where are the keys?” Lars demanded.

“He threw them over there.” Oskar said, pointing.

Lars dropped to his knees and rummaged in the dark corner, finally feeling the metal against his fingers. He thrust the key into the lock and turned, yanking the door open and dropping to Oskar’s side.

“Can you stand?” he asked, lifting one of Oskar’s arms over his shoulder.

The guardsman grunted and pushed to his feet with Lars’ support.

Voices and pounding feet rang out overhead, and a moment later, two soldiers reached them. “Captain!” came a shout.

“He’s okay,” Lars answered. “Help me get him upstairs.”

The other men relieved Lars of his burden, wrapping their leader in a blanket and half carrying him up out of the dungeons, the boy at their heels. Back in the palace, they took him to his room where the queen’s physician cleaned his wounds and gave him a calming draught.

“You, too, Lars,” the elderly woman said, handing him a flask.

“No!” he said. “We have to go after them! We have to save her! They’ve headed into the Hekswood. If we go now we can catch them!”

Oskar reached out and laid a hand on Lars’ arm. “I’ll give the order, Lars. Let the soldiers go. You’ve done all you can—rest now.”

“No! No! I won’t! I won’t fail her again!” He leapt back, hysteria engulfing him.

“You haven’t failed her,” Oskar said, his face distraught. “I have. I made a promise. I promised Hendrik…” he trailed off, the medicine taking ahold of him.

“I have to go!” he shouted. “I have to go!”

“Lars.”

He whipped around, ready to bolt, and ran into Queen Frysabel. She knelt in front of him, and reached gentle hands to his trembling shoulders. “I heard what happened. I have sent my soldiers to the Hekswood after them. If it is at all possible to catch them, we will. You need to rest now.”

“But I can’t! I said I would protect her.”

“I know, Lars. And you tried. But they were too strong for you. It’s not your fault. We were all deceived.” She brushed her fingers over his forehead and down the side of his cheek and repeated, “It’s not your fault.”

Lars sank to the floor, overcome by pain and guilt. Frysabel drew him into a warm embrace and he dissolved into sobs. She tightened her arms around him as his crying wracked his body. His stupid, weak, useless body. The body that had failed her.

Lars

The tracks in the snow were easy for the soldiers to follow, but they led only to the horses, standing tethered to a tree at the edge of a small clearing. In the center of the clearing was a pile of Oskar’s clothing and what looked like human skin and hair, along with the telltale signs that a labradrake—possibly two—had landed there. They brought the dire news back to Sniflheim.

Krystalinda assembled the volunteers and interviewed them extensively, trying to determine if anyone had heard anything that would have given even the slightest clue as to where Markus would have taken Beatrice and the books. Nothing.

Eventually, Lars agreed to take a sleeping draught just to get the Queen and the others to leave him alone. He was infuriated at being treated like a child, but they kept reminding him that he still was one. Sesqui stayed with him, curling his enormous body into a compact ball on the floor in Lars’ room.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 8, 3:00a.m. _

Lars

Lars woke in the small hours of morning and shrugged into a shirt, breeches, and warm tunic. Fastening his sword belt around him, he slunk to the door, stopping to grab his fur-lined cloak and ball it up under his armpit. He lifted the latch as quietly as he could.

“Lars?” Sesqui whispered.

“Go back to sleep, Sesqui.”

The dragon lifted his head. “It would be stupid to go off into the Hekswood after them all by yourself.”

“I know. I’m going after Sir Hendrik. He’ll know what to do.”

“Will he?” Sesqui rolled into a seated position. “I don’t see how. And you’ll only distract him from his duty to the Luminary.”

Lars’ clenched his fists. “Then I’ll ask the Luminary for help. Look—stop trying to be reasonable. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.” He pulled the door inward.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

Tears instantly welled in Lars’ eyes. He breathed through the constriction in his throat and said, “Yes.”

Lars

With a final tug on the stirrup strap, Lars took hold of Coriander’s reins. Dawn was still a couple hours off, and he figured it would be well after breakfast before anyone even bothered to check on him. He opened the stable doors and walked the chestnut courser into the yard. Sesqui followed and closed the doors quietly behind them.

“Coriander. Good choice. He should make excellent time.”

Lars jumped and wheeled around.

Oskar sat astride Alabaster over by the barracks wall, barely illuminated by moonlight. Two large saddle bags bulged from the horse’s sides. “Can you keep up, Sesqui?” he asked, riding over to them.

“Oh yes,” the professaurus answered. “I don’t get tired easily at all.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Lars said with a frown.

The guardsman chuckled. “You’re going after Sir Hendrik.”

“You don’t think that’s stupid?”

“Who knows?” Oskar replied, shrugging. “Probably. But at the very least, I can’t let my men go fight for Dundrasil while I sit around here. And neither Queen Frysabel nor I want you going alone.”

Lars eyes went glassy again. What was _wrong_ with him?

“Besides, I need a squire. And I’ll need Coriander to hold some of my armor.” Slipping to the ground, he said, “Grab those bags over there, would you?” and gestured to a dark lump across the yard.

“Yes, Sir,” Lars said, and complied.


	19. Chapter 19

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 8, Noon _

Hendrik

Two days out. At least four more to Dundrasil. Hendrik stared at nothing, envisioning the path ahead, estimating the distance. He ran over in his mind the surroundings of the rebuilt palace, its outer walls, the position of the old tunnel, the layout of the new upper city. Likely some horrific beast was squatting in his house right now. He bit into his travel rations and chewed with ferocity.

A soldier called Anders handed him a leather mug. “Mountain spring water,” Anders said. “Best stuff there is.”

Hendrik managed a companionable smile. “Good man,” he said, and drank half of it down. “Best indeed.”

“How far today, Sir?” Anders asked, dropping to a rock across the small clearing. All around them, soldiers rubbed down horses, adjusted saddle bags, and chatted while eating their midday meal. A light snow fell, enough to lower visibility a little, but not enough to impede their progress.

“I would like to press on into the foothills below Arboria, if we can reach there before nightfall,” Hendrik said. “Though that may not be possible with the terrain.”

Anders smiled. “We’re well used to the mountains, Sir. Our horses train extensively in the peaks around Sniflheim. I don’t think Arboria is out of the question.” He took a deep draught from his own mug.

Hendrik found himself grateful for the continued optimism of Frysabel’s troops. It buoyed him, helping to focus him on the mission at hand. “Excellent,” he said, and stood. “Men,” he called, his resonant baritone filling the forest around them, “prepare to move out!” The sounds around him escalated sharply as his companions stowed supplies, secured weapons, and tightened tack.

Hendrik walked back to the front of the column, where Obsidian stood nuzzling a small patch of dried grass half covered in snow. He patted his faithful steed’s flank, and brushed down the long, black nose with affection. He resumed his inner strategizing, recalling the strength of Heliodor’s army, assessing the leadership of Sir Aldrich. This perseverant musing wasn’t like him—he was far too experienced to waste his mental energy thus. But he knew it was his mind’s way of trying to pull the focus from his worries about Beatrice.

If he knew for certain that she was safe in Sniflheim, he could easily stay to the task at hand, even see her declaration of love for him as a token to be worn into battle. But Elvan was still out there. And the books still had a powerful hold on her even when they weren’t being read chorally.

He sighed. She had told him that if their relationship were to be more than casual, he would have to risk loss. She was willing to risk losing him to the upcoming battle—she knew it was what he needed to do. And he? Could he accept that he could not be merely her knight protector? Could he admit that he simply might not even be _able_ to protect her? And if so, was it still worth the risk?

In short, could he love her?

He was just going to have to let it go. To trust her. Trust Oskar. He had no choice at the moment. He needed to ride.

Hendrik froze, the hair rising on his neck, his seasoned instincts immediately on edge. He drew his blade, body taut, listening.

“Sir?” One of the soldiers behind him.

“Shh!” A shift in the sound of the wind, a creak of a branch too loud to be natural. Then a loud _snap_. “AMBUSH!” Hendrik roared.

A dozen Hell’s gatekeepers, crashed from the thin cover of the trees in all directions, their shields bellowing a chorus of inhuman howls. The soldiers shouted in response, falling into a circular formation, swords singing out of scabbards.

Cruel morning stars flew through the air, pounding onto shields, smashing into trees, or thudding into the ground as soldiers dodged. The clash of steel echoed around them, along with grunts of effort and cries of pain.

Hendrik’s mind raced, even as his body fought seamlessly, at one with his blade. Why ambush a small force en route to the siege? And why only a dozen adversaries—they were clearly outnumbered two to one. What was the enemy hoping to achieve.

As one, the gatekeepers raised their leering shields, the horrific mouths opening wide and belching a stream of black smoke into the air. Hendrik choked on the acrid mist, eyes watering. He shook his head to clear it, only to find that the gatekeeper he had been about to attack was suddenly surrounded by half a dozen of his compatriots. He could no longer get a clear shot. How could they all suddenly be in one close area? Had they left themselves open to attack by the rest of the soldiers? Or were there now more of them?

He switched his focus to the nearest gatekeeper and brought down his sword in a massive sweep. The blade connected with—nothing!—and Hendrik stumbled, off balance, and fell. He rolled back to his feet, holding his shield up just in time to block the impact of a spiked iron ball. Realization dawned—he’d been dazzled by the monsters’ _air pollution_ ability. And how many of the others had been?

“Fall back into closer quarters!” he shouted, but the confusion of the still-lingering smoke and the illusionary enemies made it nearly impossible.

A sudden shriek rent the air, and from above them an Elysium bird wheeled and dove into their midst. Hendrik raised his sword to strike out at the airborne threat, but the continued dazzlement threw his aim. His blade sliced through nothing yet again, and a split second later, the enormous creature’s talons sank deep into his shoulders. He cried out as his feet left the ground and he was borne upward at a dizzying angle. He pointed his sword upward at the beast’s chest, but quickly thought better of it—if he incapacitated it, they would both plummet to their deaths. Better to try to injure it in some way.

He swung his legs upward, seizing the bird around the neck with his booted feet and twisting, forcing the creature’s head to one side.

“Ow! Hey! What gives?” the bird shouted. “You wanna make me crash?”

“Down!” Hendrik ordered, squeezing more tightly.

“Geez! What the hell kind of abs are those?” It lowered a wing and careened, spiraling into a steep descent in an attempt to make Hendrik to let go. “I can’t see, ya big lug! Leggo!”

With all his strength, Hendrik dug a thumb into the tendon at the back of the Elysium bird’s talon. With a shriek, the bird loosened its grip, but didn’t let go completely.

“Are you _trying_ to off yourself?” it cried. “My _job_ is to bring you in _alive_. So do me a favor, already!”

The great beast continued to circle over the battlefield, its locked head and neck keeping it from moving in a straight line. Hendrik could not see how far above the ground they were from his position, so he could not be sure it was yet safe to bring his sword to bear and break free. But he also knew the moment he released the creature, it would begin a sharp ascent again. Closing his eyes, he listened for the sounds of the skirmish in order to estimate the distance. In so doing, he heard exactly what he did not want to hear.

“Archers! Rescue Sir Hendrik!”

No. No! NO! They had as much chance of hitting Hendrik as the bird! And if he wasn’t low enough to the ground, they could wind up killing him anyway! He knew none of the men were this stupid—it must be the confusion wrought by the gatekeepers.

An arrow whizzed past his ear and under the Elysium bird’s tail feathers. _Shit._ Hendrik was going to have to take a risk. With a final, sharp twist of his legs, he released the bird’s neck and swung down again, gauging his distance from the ground. Damn! It was just a little too far. But what choice did he have? He positioned his sword under the bird’s head.

Sensing the imminent attack, the monster wheeled again and dove to the left, driving Hendrik’s attack off course. The knight took advantage of the drop in altitude and swung his sword in a wide arc, smashing the edge of the blade into the creature’s neck. Blood erupted outward and with a gurgling shriek, the bird opened its talons.

Hendrik dropped like a stone, praying for a large snow bank or broad evergreen to break his fall. He pulled himself into a ball, covering his head and trying to twist his body to the side in order to reduce the chances of serious injury. A few feet from the ground, he tossed his sword so as not to land on it. But despite doing everything exactly right, the knight landed on a small rock formation with his thigh. A sharp crack sent a surge of blinding pain through his leg and back and he shouted in agony as he crashed into the snow.

Disoriented and half-blind from pain, he reached down to use his healing magic. But before he could begin his prayer, he glanced up to see a second Elysium bird descending upon him just as the leering shield of a hell’s gatekeeper once again belched smoke at him, sending him into a deep sleep.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 8, 5:00p.m. _

Jade

Late afternoon sun slanted through the oaks at the edge of the Drasilian plain. Jade swung up into the branches, making her way to the very top of the tallest one she could find, willing aside her fear of heights. She poked her head through the dense foliage and took stock of the scene for the umpteenth time. Directly below her, the Heliodorian army lay encamped, a formidable force, well-trained and well-led, but compelled into a waiting game by the sheer size of the opposition.

Gathered at the base of the new castle walls up on the plateau, spilling down the bridge through the ruins of the lower city and outward onto the plain for hundreds of yards in every direction was a seething mass of monstrosity. She knew they were well aware of her father’s armies, but they simply sat there, as if waiting for something. They didn’t appear to be employing battering rams or siege towers, and despite what appeared to be an entire battalion of dragooners, no one was flying too close to the walls.

And she, too, waited. For Octogonia’s few fighters, for Puerto Valor’s troops, and for Hendrik—probably the only general who could successfully lead these armies against the present threat. With all due respect for Sir Aldrich, Heliodor’s forces still functioned as if they were an extension of their former leader’s arm. She’d been sitting around for almost three days, and it was hard to have any sort of hope.

A high, sweet, and oh-so-familiar voice called up to her. “Oh! Jade! Take care!”

“Serena!” Jade shouted with delight, and somersaulted down to land, catlike, before her old friend.

Serena jumped. “I simply do not know how you do that!” she said.

Jade crushed the younger woman in a hug. “Love the hair cut!” she said. “It really suits you!”

“Oh, sure,” came a petulant growl from lower to the ground. “And I suppose you’re so busy gushing over my _sister_ you haven’t even _noticed_ she didn’t come unaccompanied!”

Without even glancing down, Jade snatched up the twelve-year-old body of Serena’s twin. “Veronica! Wonderful to see you again!”

Veronica shot her a disapproving frown. “Put me down,” she scolded. “I like to have my feet on the ground.” But she couldn’t keep back a grin, and hugged Jade back first.

“Has it only been eight months?” Jade asked. “I swear you’ve grown a foot.”

“Ugh. And I’m right on the verge of having to go through fucking puberty. _Again_!” She scowled as Jade and Serena failed to stop themselves from laughing.

Serena said, “I’m sorry to say this, but things don’t look terribly promising here.” She squinted across the field at the bustling hordes in the distance.

“What are you talking about?” demanded Veronica with a broad grin. “We’re here, now! Things are about to get a whole lot more promising!”

Jade gestured back toward where her tent had been set up. “Come, friends. Dine with me and we’ll start strategizing.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Sylvando?” Serena asked. “And Sir Hendrik?”

“I’m sure they’re on their way,” Jade replied, “but I don’t expect them for a few days, and I sure as hell don’t want to just sit around doing nothing until then.”

The women walked through the trees in the gathering dusk. “Oh, I wish we hadn’t taken Serenica’s flute back to Arboria after Calasmos fell,” said Serena. “If El still had it, he would easily be able to leave the castle.”

Jade shook her head. “Not that easily. I’ve lost count of all the dragooners out there. It would be risky for Cetacea to land on the roof long enough for anyone to get on her back.”

“And anyway,” Veronica added, “that might get El and a few others out of the castle, but does that mean they’re just going to let the rest of the people starve or let the fucking monsters overrun the place?”

Serena sighed. “At least if he were out here, he would be free to help us figure out how to save Dundrasil.”

“Before it’s destroyed all over again,” Veronica groused. “I swear, what the fuck does everyone have against Dundrasil anyway?” She clenched her fists, sparks of flame erupting from them. “Just give these poor people a break!”

Serena put a hand on her volatile sister’s shoulder. “At any rate,” she said to Jade, “we brought the flute with us. It might be the only option we have in the long run.”

Jade shrugged. “If we can get it to him.”


	20. Chapter 20

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 9, Early afternoon _

Beatrice

Warm hands slipped gently under Beatrice’s neck and back, helping her to sit up. She groaned, pain shooting, throbbing, or aching through every part of her body. Her mouth felt like wool, and tasted like mold.

“Be still.” A girl’s voice, light and airy.

Cool water dripped into her lap as a wet cloth was dabbed onto her face. She sucked air, gritting her teeth, as the fabric made contact with her cheekbone. The pressure withdrew, then returned with less force. Slowly, her mystery attendant worked the cloth over her whole face, then moved down to her neck.

“Can you open your eyes?”

Beatrice willed herself to do so, and was rewarded by a sliver of light, followed by a hazy silhouette. She blinked once, twice, and the girl came into focus.

Young, perhaps Lars’ age, with thick, dark waves held back by a grey bandana, and large, wide-set brown eyes, ringed by long lashes. She was bronze complected, like the people of Puerto Valor, and dressed in a servant’s dress and apron.

“Who…” Beatrice tried, but her voice was so thick and rough she couldn’t get any more out.

“Don’t talk. It’s the draught they gave you. It’ll be a while before it wears off enough for you to have your wits about you again.” Her tone was matter of fact, but not unkind. “I’m Isabella. I’m supposed to take care of you.” Her accent confirmed her as Valorian. Was that where they were?

Questions whirled through Beatrice’s addled brain, but proved too elusive to fully formulate.

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you,” the girl said. “I’m not allowed to. But I wouldn’t anyway. I’m telling you that because I need to get you out of your clothes to clean you and I don’t want you to be afraid.” She paused as if she wanted to say more but thought better about it. “Is that okay?”

Beatrice nodded and the girl smiled. It was a lovely smile, actually, and the Drasilian scholar let herself relax.

Isabella pulled off Beatrice’s boots and hose, unhooked her cloak, then unlaced her shirt and started to lift it over her head. Beatrice cried out as the pain in her collar bone surged.

“Okay, let me do this, then,” the girl said, and pulled out a knife. Carefully, she cut away the linen fabric from Beatrice’s arm and shoulder, then from the rest of her torso, leaving her naked from the waist up. “Back down, now, so I can remove your skirts.” She eased Beatrice to what felt like a soft towel beneath her bare back, then worked the bindings on her waistband, and pulled the garment away.

Beatrice shivered.

“Don’t worry, this water is warm,” Isabella said. She dipped a sponge into a large basin to her side, then squeezed it over Beatrice’s body, soaking her. She then lathered the sponge with a fragrant soap, and with firm but gentle hands, she scrubbed the days of travel grime, sweat, and terror from Beatrice’s skin. Next, she soaked Beatrice’s tangled tresses and massaged the same cleanser into her scalp, carefully avoiding the bruise on her forehead. She rinsed Beatrice’s hair and body by pouring the remainder of the water in the basin over her.

“Sit up again,” she said. “Do you think you could help me move you to that dry towel there?” She gestured to a spot probably five feet away and up on a low mattress. It might have been a mile up a mountain. “Come on. We can make it.”

Whatever they had used to keep her docile on the journey was already beginning to ebb a little, and she found she could muster the strength to wobble to a semi-standing position and move the short distance. Once she was sitting again, Isabella dried her, dabbing at any painful spots with the utmost consideration.

Isabella picked up what appeared to be clean clothes and looked down at Beatrice’s badly bruised collar bone. She frowned. “I don’t think it’s broken, but this is probably going to hurt. Can we try it?”

Beatrice nodded again.

Isabella rolled the back of the muslin shift and moved around behind Beatrice, then held the head and arm openings in front of Beatrice’s face. “Can you raise your arm at all?”

Beatrice tried and pain swept through her, but she gritted her teeth and did it anyway, plunging both arms and her head through the holes. Isabella pulled down, eliciting another sharp twinge, but then it was done. Isabella helped her stand, and the garment drifted downward to cover her in surprising softness.

“That was the hard part,” the girl said, then drew an open-sided tunic in a dark green linen down over the shift. She threaded two leather laces through eyelets on both sides and tightened them against the older woman’s ribcage and hips. “Let’s have your feet,” she said, and slid a pair of fur-lined slippers over Beatrice’s cold toes.

Next the girl took out a wide-toothed comb and carefully worked her way through the scholar’s damp curls. Beatrice marveled at the girl’s gentleness and strength, her patience and thoroughness.

“Why…?” Beatrice’s brain was clearing. Memories were threatening.

“I don’t really have much choice. I do what the Dark Lady tells me.” She stopped combing for a moment. “But truthfully? I’m glad I get to take care of you. I didn’t like the way Markus tossed you around.” Isabella poked her head around Beatrice’s shoulder. “He did all this to you, didn’t he?” she said, gesturing to Beatrice’s face.

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly wishing the potion wasn’t wearing off. _That and more._ But she only nodded.

“Eat something, if you can,” Isabella said. “You’ll feel a lot better.” She proffered a hunk of hearty bread and Beatrice took a bite, grateful for the nutty flavor overcoming the terrible taste left by the draught. The moment the first piece hit her stomach, she was ravenous, and forced herself to pull off small portions and chew them fully. After finishing with Beatrice’s hair, Isabella offered her cheese next, and then an apple and some honey wine.

Sated, Beatrice asked, “Where are we?”

Isabella sighed. “My master’s mountain fortress,” she said. “I need to clean up now. You should rest. The Dark Lady said tomorrow will be a busy day.”

Beatrice took in her surroundings. The mattress, straw covered in linen, lay in the corner of a large room, perhaps twenty feet on a side, with a rough stone floor and windowless walls. Three lanterns hung from hooks in the ceiling the length of the space, giving off a steady, if not terribly bright light. Against the far wall stood a small, square table, with a single chair tucked under it. The wooden surface was empty except for a standing lantern, not lit. Otherwise the room was bare, save for the washbasin and wet towels that Isabella was gathering up, the basket of food that sat beside her on the bed, and a chamber pot. This was no inn, but a prison cell.

As the realization dawned, she noted the solid, wooden door to her left, and, at the other end of the room, a space of about 12 feet wide by 8 feet deep sectioned off with iron bars. A cell within a cell. A wave of despair swept through her chest and the food she’d eaten turned to stone in her stomach. “Isabella,” she said, voice trembling, “what is this place?”

The girl frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice even more childlike. “I have to go now.” She knocked hastily on the portal and the sound of a bolt opening preceded the creak of the massive door. Not meeting Beatrice’s eyes, Isabella slipped out. The door closed with a thud and the bolt shot home.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 9, Midnight _

Tyriant

Tyriant stood outside his tent, the wan moonlight reflecting off his black armor, the tattered edges of his half-decayed purple cloak fluttering in the night breeze. He swept his empty eye sockets over the field, taking stock of his modest battalion of deadnauts and skeleton swordsmen. They sat in clusters around meager fires talking in grating tones about the victory they would soon win, some breaking into mock battles with one another, which resulted in more than one unfortunate casualty.

Who could blame them, Tyriant thought. They were bored. How long was this waiting game to continue? Dundrasil was ridiculously defensible—there was little chance of them taking the new castle by force even with as large an army as they had, but why not at least try? Surely they could overrun the underground passage at the very least. What would it cost them? A few thousand worthless lives? Pah! But the Dark Lady had made it clear that none were to move until she gave the word.

And now, to add insult to injury, was this ridiculous quest she’d given him. Him! Tyriant! The greatest deadnaut to have ever risen from a shallow grave, the most decorated general in Zwaardsrust’s history since Drustan himself! At least until his own troops had abandoned him at the front line during the massacre. That was the hatred that kept him animated all these years after his death, gave him his unmatched strength among his brethren, and had attracted the attention of the Lord of Shadows himself!

Mordegon had promised him power beyond his wildest imagining, and the throne of Heliodor to boot! Sometimes he swore he even remembered that it had come to pass! But Mordegon was dead—killed before he could fulfill his promise. Now the Dark Lady promised him much the same thing, if he would help her to raise the Dark One. Yet she insisted that in order for her to carry out that glorious task, it was up to Tyriant to take out one of the Luminary’s cursed do-gooder friends. Oh, he would have welcomed the opportunity to spar with Hendrik, another lost countryman whose cowardice had led him to flee Zwaardsrust at the fall, and a celebrated general like Tyriant himself!

But no. The Dark Lady had insisted he set his sites on _Serena_. The frail and oh-so-sweet priestess of Yggdrasil. It was an insult to his prowess! He slashed at the air with his twin weapons, taking out his fury on an invisible giant, something worthy of his skill.

He knew Serena had arrived in the Heliodorian camp—the Dark Lady’s spies had brought word as soon as her detestable feet had hit Drasilian soil. But even _then_ he was being told to wait. Wait for the moment when the Luminary’s entire circle could be eliminated in one fell swoop, leaving him weakened and unprotected. He supposed he could support the idea. But why couldn’t it have been Hendrik? Or at the very least Jade?

A deadnaut suddenly came flying out of the night right at him. He sidestepped and watched the armored pile of bones crater into the earth beside him. If he’d had eyes, he would have rolled them expansively. It was going to be another long night.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, 1:00am _

El

El stood at his bedchamber window, staring out over the castle wall and further, to the Drasilian plain far below. Enemy campfires dotted the field near and far, casting the nighttime cloud cover with a lurid glow. He could see no movement other than the occasional fly-by of a dragooner at a safe distance from the archers on the battlements.

Nothing about this seemed right. He’d been racking his brain for days on end, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. At first there hadn’t been time to think. The siege had begun so suddenly it was all anyone could do to get the people into the walls—walls which had been finished less than a fortnight. But once the sparse populace had been secured and the small military force appropriately stationed, it had become a waiting game, and El had nothing _but_ time to think.

A pair of warm, strong hands slid up under his linen shirt from behind, and encircled his chest. “You know you can’t break a siege just by staring at it,” Erik said, resting his chin on El’s shoulder.

El huffed. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“You mean other than the fact that there’s still an army of monsters this big even after we kicked Calasmos into oblivion? Because that, my friend, is what mystifies me.” He planted a soft kiss on the side of El’s neck, and El closed his eyes and sighed.

“It’s more than that. Something about their strategy. Or complete lack of strategy. Ugh. I wish Hendrik was here. He’s the one who understands these things.” He clenched his fists in frustration.

“Technically it was Jasper who was the strategist.”

“Except after Hendrik made peace with Jasper’s ghost, somehow he picked up some of Jasper’s skill.”

Erik laughed, a sound El never tired of. “Yeah, that was weird,” he said. “But even if we could find some way to get word to Hendrik about the siege, it’s not like he could get in here to help. There’s a massive monster pile-up at the tunnel exit. We’re just lucky the tunnel is hidden and so easily defended or we’d be overrun in no time.”

El stiffened, frowning. “But that’s just it. Even with that advantage, they should still be able to make their way in. They have to know there's a tunnel to find, they outnumber our soldiers 500 to one at least, and they have nothing but time. They could force their way in in small groups and even if most of them got picked off, every one of our soldiers they killed would get them closer to their objective.”

“And you say you’re not a strategist. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m missing something.”

“This isn’t all up to you,” Erik said, pulling away and turning El toward him. “Your grandfather’s still the Lord Regent. This isn’t all your responsibility. **”**

El clenched his fists again and turned back to the window. “I’m the Luminary, Erik. Defending Erdrea from the forces of darkness _is_ my responsibility!”

“El, El, it’s okay. There is absolutely nothing you can do about this tonight.” He took El’s hands in his and pulled him in close. “So for right now, let’s pretend that I’m your only responsibility.” El sighed and Erik leaned in, kissing him softly. “Come to bed,” he whispered. El allowed himself to be led back to their shared sanctuary and gave himself over to the ministrations of his beloved thief.


	21. Chapter 21

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, 3:00am _

Hendrik

Hendrik woke feeling as though his head had been stuffed with wool. His tongue lay thick in his mouth and tasted of rot, and his eyes stubbornly refused to open. Dulled instincts cried out for movement but he wasn’t entirely in his own body and nothing responded.

 _Breathe, Hendrik_. Unable to even count the length of his breaths, he settled for ushering them in and out as deliberately as he could manage. Presently, his addled mind began to clear, and hazy details of the past day or so emerged from among what must have been long periods of senselessness. Half-conscious flight dangling from the talons of an Elysium bird, fuzzy memories of a campfire surrounded by bodkin bowyers, of gulping water from a creek, and of being forced to drink sour wine.

His leg. Hendrik tried again to move, and this time his muscles engaged. He instantly wished they hadn’t, as a swift jolt of agony exploded in his thigh. Why hadn’t he been able to heal it? Whatever they kept giving him to drink must have made him too insensible even to pray. Could he now? The words escaped him.

Once the sharp pang subsided somewhat, he recognized the throbbing soreness in his shoulders from where the bird’s sharp toes had gripped him for hours on end. He re-focused on his breathing, willing the discomfort in his body to one side so that he could free up his mind to think.

Clearly he was no longer outside. He could feel warm hay under him, and the air was stale. He forced his eyes open, and was rewarded by a view of a blank stone wall, not six inches from his face. Pale light shone from somewhere over and behind him. He knew a prison cell when he was in one. He’d spent enough time in the dungeons below Heliodor interrogating criminals.

Reaching down to his broken leg, he ran his tongue around his mouth, trying to moisten it, then murmured a healing prayer, its words finally coalescing in his brain. The last phrase uttered, he waited for relief. Nothing.

_What unholy place is this?_

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself up and rolled so that his back was to the wall, his broken bone on top, rather than under him. Hands skilled from two decades of combat ran over the injured limb, assessing the damage. Oddly enough, the break was already partially healed, as if someone had cast a low-level spell just to set the bone and stabilize it, but then left it to do the rest on its own. He allowed himself to be grateful, wondering just how bad it had been at the first.

Confident that he wouldn’t cause more harm by moving, he held his breath and struggled to a sitting position, so as to evaluate his surroundings. The straw pile in which he lay took up a full third of the small cell. Beside it was a pitcher of water, and he snatched it up, gulping greedily. At the far end by the door was a drain for his personal needs. Iron bars separated the space from a much larger room, dimly lit by lanterns hanging from the ceiling. They illumined a square table along one wall and, a fair distance away, a straw mattress upon which lay another prisoner.

He squinted, trying to see any details through his still clouded vision. Curves—a woman under a blanket, balled into one corner. Long, dark curls spilled out from the covering. His stomach dropped.

Beatrice.

Rage tore through him, setting fire to his chest and searing his extremities. He clenched a great fist and punched into the iron barrier, oblivious to the pain, a roar of pure fury ripping from him. Why? Why had he left her? What madness was this? The blind anger choked him, but he could not face the alternative, the despair that threatened at his complete helplessness.

She groaned, drifting into consciousness at the echoing howl in the enclosure. He watched with a sick ache in his gut as she pushed herself up on the mattress, praying that he should be wrong, that it should be anyone other than Beatrice. But he knew with crushing certainty that it was she. Bare arms reached upward in a slow stretch, and then she turned, peering down the length of the room to where he sat trembling.

“H-Hendrik?” She let out a sob and scrambled across the space, sinking sideways against bars and reaching for him. “Dear Yggdrasil, no! Oh, Hendrik!” Grasping the iron, he slid toward her, twisting so that he could fit his arms through the gaps and pull her to him, encircling her around the barrier between them. He leaned his face on the cold iron, letting the softness of her wild hair caress his cheek. She shuddered in his embrace, her tears dampening his arm.

“My Beatrice,” he said. “How came you here? And where even is this place?”

“I dinnae know,” she gasped out. “I dinnae know where we are.”

He let her cry a little longer, then said, “Breathe, Beatrice. We must take stock of the situation. I need your strength, or mine shall fail me.” His voice broke and she pulled away.

It was then he saw the purple-and-yellow bruises that darkened her forehead, jaw and lower her lip, saw the bruising that emerged from beneath the wide neckline of her dress and spread upward toward her throat. The rage surged again. “Who has done this to you?” he growled, already knowing the answer.

“Ach, Hendrik, we were sorely deceived. It wasnae Markus in that cell—at least not after a time—but Elvan, the sherpent. Markus disguised himself as Cedric—” Hendrik’s body clenched. “Aye. And as soon as you left—the very next day—Elvan took on the form of Oskar and the two of them took me and the books out of Sniflheim and brought all here.”

War raged in Hendrik’s head, between the raw emotions threatening to engulf him and his desperate need to be rational, to formulate a plan of action. “How could I have been so stupid,” he muttered. _Again._

Beatrice touched his cheek. “It wasnae only you,” she said. “I was just as blind. We all were.” Her eyes swept over him, and she said, “Your shoulders…is that blood?” She reached out a hand and gently brushed against the cloth of his tunic.

He covered her hand with his. “Yes. I was carried here by an Elysium bird. For how long I do not know.”

“How awful! Can you nae heal yourself?”

“I cannot. For whatever unholy reason, my spell will not work here.” He glanced down. “My leg, too, is injured. I do not think it will bear my weight.”

Tears started in Beatrice’s eyes again. “I know why they’ve brought me here, what they want from me, though they havenae told me. But you… why would they do this to you?”

“Knowing Markus, it is quite possibly spite,” he replied, though he knew otherwise. He took her hands, his wide blue-green eyes searching hers, brows knit. “Beatrice,” he said, “you cannot help them decipher those books, no matter what happens.”

“Aye, I know. As soon as I regained my wits in this place, I vowed to Yggdrasil I wouldnae serve them, though it cost my life.”

Hendrik’s grip tightened, fear and grief sweeping through him. “They will do everything in their power to break you.”

She reached up and brushed across his brow with a tender hand. “When they do, I will close my eyes, and it will be as though I’m looking into yours. Then even though my body and mind are driven to agony, they willnae have my spirit. Yggdrasil will preserve that for you.”

Exhaustion, pain, and ebbing rage conspired against him, and tears filled his eyes. Beatrice laced her fingers through his long hair and pulled him to her, kissing him tenderly through the iron bars. He reached for her again, hugging her as close as the barrier between them allowed, careful of her injuries and his.

At length, she pushed away from him and stood. “A moment,” she said, and retrieved the blankets from her bed. She began to lay one on the uneven stone along the bars, but Hendrik bid her wait.

He dragged handfuls of straw from the pile and passed them to her. Together, they fashioned a single, if divided, mat. She handed him the linen sheet—he insisted she keep the warmer of the two blankets—and they lay down beside one another, his arm reaching through to hold her.

There was little doubt in his mind that this would be the last peace they enjoyed for a long time. Possibly ever. He delivered a silent prayer to Yggdrasil that he might find gratitude simply in the closeness of her for that moment.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Morning _

Booga

Idly spinning his spiked hoop around his ample midsection, Booga wandered through the monster camp, on the hunt for a nice piece of ass. A succubat would be lovely, the variety hardly mattered. Fruity, supreme…well, maybe not vampire. Possibly someone still drunk from the seemingly constant revelry that kept everyone from dying of boredom. Not that he needed his conquests to be drunk—he was, after all, the brightest and most beautiful creature on the face of Erdrea.

It was lonely here on the battlefield—could anyone blame him for seeking company? Especially when Boodica was back home. He didn’t miss her. Quite the opposite. He was thrilled to be out from under her constant attentions. He couldn’t wait for the chance to find someone else to spend a little… _time_ with.

He scowled, his normally amicable face going dark. The Lord of Shadows had promised to get rid of Boodica for him. Promised to give him so much power he could craft a pocket dimension and send her there so she’d leave him alone. Sometimes he dreamed he had done it, and even better, that someone had killed her in that dimension, freeing him permanently.

A wave of lust cascaded through him, causing his pants to bulge beneath his belt. He still remembered who it was in his dreams that delivered him from his overbearing girlfriend: Princess Jade of Heliodor. And now—strange coincidence!—he had been tasked with her demise. It made him a little sad, if he was honest. Everyone in Erdrea knew the woman was _hot_. Not to mention perfectly fit, insanely strong, frighteningly intelligent, loyal to a fault, and _hot_! Plus rumor had it she played both sides of the field, opening up endless possibilities for naughty fun.

Damn it. Now he was going to need to find a succubat and _fast_.

He sighed. Why couldn’t he just run off with Jade instead of killing her? That would certainly take her out of the Luminary’s circle. And then the Dark Lady would deliver on her promise for incredible, dark power, and he and Jade could take out Boodica together and live happily ever after. Once Jade met him, she wouldn’t be able to help but fall in love with him after all.

A slow smile spread across his wide face, revealing rows of murderously sharp teeth. Today was going to be a good day. He could just feel it.


	22. Chapter 22

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Morning _

Beatrice

A gentle rocking motion brought Beatrice to her senses. “Beatrice, you need to wake up. The others will be here soon.” She blinked twice and twisted under Hendrik’s arm, looking up into Isabella’s sable eyes. “You will want privacy to attend to your needs,” the girl added.

Dread sat heavy in Beatrice’s chest, a fear and helplessness incalculably worse than that which she’d experienced at the hands of Markus. It had lain with her through the night, and even Hendrik’s arms around her had failed to lessen it. It had haunted her dreams and now, in waking, lent a dreamlike air to everything around her. She did not know—could not know—what would happen next. She only knew that it would be as close to hell as she would ever experience.

Hendrik stirred beside her and groaned, and at least that gave her something to think about other than her own terror. Whatever potion he’d been given in transit had surely worn off completely by now, and she was certain he must be feeling his injuries more acutely. She caressed his cheek and called his name, hoping not to startle him into sudden movement.

“Dear Yggdrasil,” he muttered, “I feel like hell.”

She kissed his forehead through the bars. “We need to gather our wits, Love.” He opened his eyes and she said, “This is Isabella. I suppose it is her job to take what care of us they’ll allow.”

Hendrik pushed himself up on one arm, weariness and discomfort creasing his features. “Charmed,” he said, nodding toward the girl.

“Actually,” Isabella said to Hendrik, “I’m not supposed to take care of you. Only Beatrice.” She grinned, and it transformed her face, like the sun suddenly shone in that dismal enclosure. “But as long as no one’s here, I can do both.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the door, where a small covered basket sat on the stones. “They only gave me enough food for one of you, though.”

Beatrice pulled herself to her feet. “I dinnae think I can eat anyway,” she said. “You said something about privacy. Do you think we could give Hendrik some?”

Isabella helped Beatrice hang one of the blankets from the iron bars. “I’m sorry I can’t help you to the drain,” Isabella said. “They don’t trust me with any keys around here.”

“Thank you for the sentiment,” Hendrik answered from behind the scrim, his voice rough with pain, “but I think I shall manage.”

Beatrice relieved herself, then washed her face and arms in the basin Isabella had brought, and picked at the food in the basket. “Who are the others?” she asked.

Isabella frowned. “What?”

“You said the others would be here soon. Who are they?”

“Oh. Well, the Dark Lady, for one. But I’m sorry to say she’s bringing Markus with her. And probably Elvan.” She held up a comb and a leather thong and Beatrice managed a grim smile. This girl was in the employ of pure evil, yet seemed delighted at the prospect of dressing Beatrice’s hair.

“Let me take this basin to Hendrik first,” Beatrice said, but when she tried to lift it, pain wracked her collar bone. She cursed inwardly. She needed whatever strength she could muster today. Mental strength most of all, surely, but her physical weakness dragged at her, threatening to sap her will.

“I’ve got it,” Isabella said, gathering up the heavy bowl with ease. She walked it slowly down the length of the room, being careful not to spill any. “Is it okay to take down the blanket?” she called. Hendrik answered in the affirmative, and Isabella set the basin on the floor and removed the makeshift screen. “Can you get your tunic and shirt off?” the serving girl asked. “I think I should clean those shoulder wounds.”

Beatrice watched from across the cell as the two of them struggled through the bars to bare Hendrik’s torso, and as Isabella soaped a sponge and washed off the dried blood, gently massaging the cruel punctures in his skin. She could see him tense under Isabella’s touch, but his face barely registered his pain. He was well used to being wounded physically, she supposed, and it inspired her.

_My body may be weak, but I’ve a Drasilian will, and I’llnae let this dread poison it._

Snatching up the basket of food in her good arm, she strode the length of the room and plopped down onto their shared mattress. “Eat something,” she said to Hendrik, breaking off a chunk of bread and handing it to him.

“You need your strength,” he said.

“Aye, but I’m angrier when I’m hungry, and I’ll need my anger, too.”

Isabella dropped the sponge back into the basin. “I need to go now,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to fix your hair.”

Beatrice took the girl’s hand. “I dinnae know how it is that you can be in this place and yet be such a light. If I live through the day, I’ll have your story out of you and no mistake.”

“It’s not a very good one,” Isabella replied, a frown creasing her brow. “But even so, I hope I get to tell it to you.”

She collected the basin and Beatrice’s chamber pot and banged on the door with her foot. Whoever lurked on the outside opened it to allow her egress, then slammed it to again.

Hendrik chewed the bread slowly, his eyes moving over Beatrice’s face and neck, then he swallowed. He caressed her uninjured cheek, brushing his thumb over her swollen lip. “I am sorry I was not there,” he said.

She leaned into his touch. “Aye, I know.” Taking a deep, slow breath, she said, “But in some way, you were there with me. It’ll sound right daft, but I felt as though you were protecting my mind and my heart. Else he…when he…he would’ve broken my spirit, and he didnae.”

Hendrik’s eyes filled with tears. “It is…as I feared?” he asked, voice heavy.

She nodded. “Aye.”

The tears fell. “My Beatrice.”

As she leaned in to comfort him with a kiss, the sound of a bolt being drawn echoed through the space. Beatrice went rigid, then pulled away and looked Hendrik directly in his aquamarine eyes. “Be my strength,” she whispered.

“I shall.”

“Aww, look at them. How sickeningly cute.”

The sound of Markus’ voice sent ice down Beatrice’s spine, but she battered it back with the fire of rage. With a last look at Hendrik, she rose and turned, body taut, hands clenched at her sides.

Markus had resumed his natural hair color, and it was bizarre to see Cedric as a blonde. He’d gone back to his favored black doublet and leggings, as well, and stood on the far side of the table, his weight on one hip, arms crossed over his chest, the picture of casual arrogance.

Behind him, a yellow-and-black serpent’s head the size of a human baby poked through the doorway. It bobbed, then curved around the portal and was followed by a smooth column of scale-covered muscle, the breadth of a man’s hips, striped in shades of yellow, orange, turquoise and black. Beatrice gaped as the creature kept coming, winding into a coil that took up a full quarter of the space before its tail reached its head. The snake rested the last length of its body on the top of the coil like an arm, the tail bent at the tip to support the creature’s chin.

After the snake had settled into this casual position, a third visitor stepped into the room. She stood more than a head shorter than Markus, with a narrow, almost birdlike frame, but her diminutive appearance did nothing to mask the aura of colossal strength that emanated from her. White-blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders and framed a perfect, heart-shaped face, alabaster with the barest hint of rose on her cheeks and lips. Her near-invisible brows and lashes, and almost colorless grey eyes gave her an otherworldly, inhuman look. She wore a simple, dove-colored gown, her bare arms starkly pale against the stone walls. Despite the total whiteness of her, the visage was one of malevolent darkness, and Beatrice feared her far more than the man or the serpent who accompanied her.

“Beatrice,” she said, and her voice was deep and smoky, like the remnants of a wildfire, “at last we meet. I have long anticipated your coming to us.”

Beatrice said nothing.

“I can sense your defiance, and that is unfortunate. I had so hoped you would recognize that your destiny lies here, and accept your rightful place as convener of the seven.” The cadence of her speech was unnaturally even, devoid of emotion. “I fear it will be tiresome to have to convince you.” She shrugged. “However, it cannot be helped. All indications are that only you can decipher the needed ritual.” She gestured to Markus without looking at him. “I will speak with you again when you are ready to aid me,” she said to Beatrice, then turned and walked out.

Beatrice breathed deeply, feeling as though the air in the room had suddenly become lighter, even as the door closed with an ominous thud, leaving her with Markus and the snake she could only assume was Elvan.

Markus crossed the room to her and lifted her chin, tilting her head one way and then the other as if admiring his handiwork. He lowered his head just slightly, so that they were eye to eye. “You have no idea how happy I am that you’re refusing to cooperate,” he said.

“You have no idea how satisfying it is that you call a _woman_ your master,” she replied.

His hand flew out and slammed into her collar bone, knocking the breath out of her and making her see stars. She reeled into the wall, gritting her teeth, tears starting in her eyes. Pushing herself back upright she said, “Aye, ye have tae abuse women, because _that_ one has a death grip on yer bawsack,” she spat.

He drew back again, then stopped. “Oh, Hendrik,” he called, still holding Beatrice’s gaze, “I don’t suppose she told you about our little tryst in the library.”

With a defiant grin, Beatrice said, “I dinnae suppose ye told yer _master_ how I kicked your baws intae yer teeth, ye lavvy-heided wankstain*.”

Markus backed her into the wall and planted his hands against the stone on either side of her shoulders. He came in close as if to kiss her and said, “You probably left out the part about how much you enjoyed it when I owned this body.”

“Ye cannae enjoy what ye dinnae notice.”

“Oh, this is _fun_!” said Elvan, his true voice a rumbling bass.

“You wanted it,” Markus growled. “You know you did.”

Beatrice’s anger eclipsed her fear. “You think because your _squire_ here read from that dark book that I was as caught up in lust as you? Nae. Your pathetic attempt to have me body and soul completely failed. In fact, it freed me from the book’s power.” Eye to eye with him she said, accenting every word, “You will _never_ own me.”

Markus trembled with rage, but then his arrogant half-smile returned. “We shall see,” he said. “Because I predict that before long, you will beg me to own you.” He turned away from her and walked a few steps to stand towering over Hendrik. “Come, Elvan,” he snapped.

“I am _not_ your _squire_ ,” the snake responded with a glare at Beatrice. But he complied nonetheless, the front end of his body joining Markus at the inner cell, leaving the back end still partially coiled.

The fury in her gut began to subside, and a sick uneasiness replaced it.

“You see,” said Markus, “we always knew it would be difficult to get you to help us. Your reputation is that of a gregarious loner—a Drasilian spitfire with no real love save books. How would we ever motivate you? Threaten to burn down a library?” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “But then, ohhh, Beatrice…” he looked back over his shoulder at her. “…you had to go and fall in love.”

She had known this was coming, but had wanted so desperately to deny it. To deny that Hendrik’s being here was her fault. That what would certainly come next—

“With _Hendrik!_ ” he spat, lashing out with a booted foot right into the knight’s broken leg.

For all his pain tolerance, Hendrik could not hold back an agonized roar. It drove through Beatrice’s heart like a metal king spear. She wanted to run to him, defend him. Yet she knew she could not show emotion, just as she had heard no reaction from him when Markus had struck her, had taunted them both by bragging about how he’d raped her. Hendrik would be her strength, and now she must be his.

Markus produced a key from his pocket and opened the door to the inner cell. Elvan pulled the rest of his body to the door and reached through with his tail, wrapping it around Hendrik’s midsection and lifting him off the ground. The great serpent slammed him against the back wall of the small enclosure and held him there while Markus entered the space and reached for the shackles bolted into the stone.

Hendrik did not put up a fight, did not even react as Markus secured one wrist and then the other. There would have been no point, and it would only serve to give their tormentor satisfaction. Instead, he kept his eyes on Beatrice’s, and she held them, drawing strength from his calm.

Elvan loosed his hold, leaving Hendrik to sink to his knees, grunting as the weight of his body came to rest on his broken thigh bone. There was not enough slack in the chains for him to sit, and his eyes squeezed shut with the pain, breaking their contact.

Markus beckoned her over and she stopped an arm’s length from the iron bars. “This is what is going to happen now,” he said, the yellow in his eyes catching the lantern light. “You will finish your study of the dark books. You will identify whatever is needed to unleash their power. And you will assist the Dark Lady in bringing Calasmos back into the world.”

Beatrice did not speak, only regarded Markus steadily and willed herself calm.

“What say you, Beatrice of Dundrasil? An answer is required of you.”

 _Breathe_ , she told herself.

Markus gave a haughty smile. “Ah, a ‘no’ then.” He gave a half nod to her. “My thanks.” He turned and dug his fingers into the talon wounds on Hendrik’s shoulders, laughing as the knight groaned and twisted under his grip. Markus turned back to her, his face flushed with pleasure, as if experiencing a high. “Please,” he said, “say ‘no’ again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *toilet-headed cumsplat


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: rape (implied)

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Afternoon _

Lars

Just before they reached the foothills of Arboria, Sesqui stopped short. Lars pulled hard on Coriander’s reins and the horse skidded to a halt. “What’s the matter?” he asked, turning back to his friend.

From behind him, Oskar said, “There was a battle here. Look.”

Lars followed the guardsman’s pointing finger. Under the edge of the tree line, where the recent snow had failed to cover completely, dark brown patches spread over the packed ice, disappearing where the ground cover met the naked dirt. Blood.

“I could smell it a couple miles ago,” Sesqui said, bobbing his head and twisting one of his long whiskers in his hand. “Maybe two days old. We dragons are sensitive to that sort of thing.”

Lars tried not to think about exactly what that meant. Instead, he put his mind to deducing what had happened in this spot. He swung down off Coriander’s back and followed a trail of irregular dark blotches back into the woods. The snow was hard packed in several places, but he could still see deep indentations where boot heels had dug in, or here and there what looked to be an imprint of part of a body. Several pine trees bore the marks of damage, as if they had been struck by large, heavy objects. One in particular caught Lars’ eye—a rounded dent that had blown the bark clean off and left, in its center, a perfectly circular, deep puncture.

“Morning star,” he said.

“Dullahan of some kind or another most likely,” Oskar said. “Probably Hell’s gatekeepers.”

Sesqui pulled on his whiskers. “Oh, I don’t like this. I thought we were done with all these evil monsters roaming everywhere.”

A deep unease grew in Lars’ gut as he examined the scene. He trotted to a clearing by the side of the road up ahead, and saw the hoof prints of multiple horses around the trees surrounding it, as if they had been tethered there. All of the blood and signs of battle seemed to be confined to an area only a few dozen yards in a circle around the clearing. Lars pushed up into the hills above the circle. Wherever the recent snow had not covered, he found large, booted footprints spreading outward in a wide ring around the clearing below.

Oskar said, “I don’t think these gatekeepers were just roaming.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sesqui.

“It was an ambush,” Lars said. “The gatekeepers waited for a party of travelers to rest here. A fairly large party.” He looked up at Oskar, his face ashen. “Hendrik’s party.”

The guardsman nodded. “It would appear so.”

“How can you know that?” The dragon’s eyes had grown wide, and he looked back and forth between his two companions.

“They would have to have known when Sniflheim’s troops would be here, which means they were probably tracking them from the time they set out somehow—possibly from the air.” Oskar turned and strode back to the clearing. “It looks like the horses got back on the road,” he said. “There aren’t any tracks going off in any other direction.”

“Which means,” said Sesqui, thoughtfully, “that Hendrik’s troops were victorious, and simply continued on toward Dundrasil.”

Something still didn’t sit right in Lars’ gut. “So why attack them? I mean, why bother with such a small force, unless the whole point was to prevent Hendrik from getting to Dundrasil.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “And if that was the purpose, wouldn’t they have sent enough monsters to kill everyone?” The alternative was too awful for Lars to speak aloud, though he assumed Oskar had reached the same conclusion: It was an assassination and Hendrik was dead, and the Sniflheim force had continued on without him. He refused to believe it was true. He _would_ find Hendrik and Hendrik would help him find Beatrice. He couldn’t bear any other thought.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Late Afternoon _

Alizarin

A stiff wind howled across the Landlocked Sea, kicking up unusually high waves, which crested in foam-topped mountains before crashing back down. Untroubled by the turbulence on the surface, Alizarin shot through the deep at breathtaking speed, now a mere nautical mile from the shores of Dundrasil. He would be able to move just as swiftly through the beach sand, but within a few yards he would be forced to emerge and continue his journey over land. That he was not looking forward to. He was comfortable enough on land, despite his massive body, but he simply could not move as fast on his four legs as he was accustomed to doing in the water.

Still, the Dark Lady had called, and the promise of an endless supply of seafood was enough to motivate him to answer. Not that he wasn’t a little skeptical. Mordegon had also promised him rulership of all the seas, a new, even more colossal body, and unlimited access to all the ocean’s delicious creatures.

But Mordegon was dead at the hands of that miniscule Luminary and his paltry friends, and all those promises had come to naught. Alizarin sometimes dreamed that he’d received his new body, had broken the barrier to Nautica, and had eaten many of its delectable residents. Mmm. Mermaids. His enormous mouth watered.

The Dark Lady said she would raise the Dark One and he would fulfill Mordegon’s empty promises. But the Dark One himself had only recently been defeated by the Luminary and his circle. Truthfully, Alizarin didn’t put much stock in these new promises. On the other hand, the woman did seem to have a realistic plan, and he was a part of it. His job was to separate and take out one of said Luminary’s little friends. The _littlest_ one, even. The fire wizard in a child’s body. Hah. Promises or no promises, he was looking forward to crushing the tiny thing under his massive spiked tail.

Of course, once he had done so, and joined the Dark Lady to help with the resurrection ritual, he _would_ get to enjoy a lifetime of all-you-can-eat tentacular calamari. That would be worth the trouble of a short overland journey after all.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Late Afternoon _

Beatrice

Blood ran from the open wounds in Hendrik’s shoulders down his bare chest and darkened the waist of his breeches. New wounds in his arms, hands, legs, chest, and side added rivulets to the streams, and small puddles of crimson gathered on the stones beside him. His eyes remained closed, his breathing labored, and sweat drenched his face and body.

Beatrice trembled where she stood, tears rolling silently down her cheeks and chin and falling to the long-soaked neckline of her dress. Everything in her was screaming in anguish, yet she knew it could be nothing compared to what he was enduring in her stead. She could not bear to look, but she could not bear to close her eyes even for a moment, lest he open his and not see her looking back at him.

It had been going on for hours. Twice during the day, Markus had knocked at the exit door and food was brought to him—never by Isabella, but by some misshapen monster or other. Just now he was seated in the single chair at the table. “Hungry, Beatrice?” he asked.

She said nothing, and he smiled.

“You, Elvan?”

“No thanks,” came the deep reply. “I ate that silver sabrecub back in the Hekswood. Still not quite digested.” He patted a small bulge in his midsection with his tail.

Markus reached out and took Beatrice’s hand. She flinched and would have snatched it away, but that would have given him satisfaction. “Come,” he said. “Sit.” When she did not move, he pulled her, hard, and she fell into his lap. He held up a slice of apple. “The finest the Heliodorian orchards have to offer,” he said, placing it at her lips.

She raised a hand to push it away, but he snatched her wrist with his other hand and pressed the fruit into her mouth. Beatrice took it with her teeth, then spat it back in his face.

“There’s the Drasilian spitfire,” he said. “I wondered where you’d been all day. Part of me was starting to think you were enjoying watching Hendrik suffer. Maybe that’s something the two of you are into.”

She turned her face away.

“Oh!” Markus got to his feet, dumping Beatrice on the floor. “Speaking of watching, I just remembered something!”

“What’s that?” Elvan asked, bobbing his great head, his tongue tasting the air in curiosity.

“Well, there’s more than one way to torture Hendrik, of course.” His eyes narrowed. “Do me a favor. Why don’t you go over there and heal our little pin cushion.”

Elvan raised a reptilian brow. “You realize that sort of defeats the purpose.”

“Hendrik’s in too much physical pain to get anything out of mental torture. I want him to be able to enjoy this.”

Anxiety fired in Beatrice’s limbs as she watched the sherpent slither over to the inner cell door and wrap Hendrik’s battered body in his coils. A few spoken words she did not recognize, and his wounds knit before her eyes and color returned to his skin. She knew what must be coming next, and yet a part of her would gladly take whatever Markus chose to do to her if it meant even the temporary easing of Hendrik’s pain.

The knight raised his head, eyes clear and bright, and sought her out.

“Welcome back, old friend,” Markus said. “How’s that leg?”

Hendrik said nothing, did not break eye contact with Beatrice.

“Now there’s gratitude for you.” Markus huffed, then shrugged. “Elvan, thank you. You may step aside, so as not to obstruct his view.” He turned and yanked Beatrice to her feet, then gripped her chin with painful strength, compelling her to look at him. “This is the part where you say you’ll serve the Dark Lady to avoid forcing Hendrik to watch me desecrate your body.” Still holding her chin, he slid his other hand up her hip and side to grope her breast. “Once again,” he said, eyes hard, “feel free to say no.”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Late Afternoon _

Jade

Veronica lay on her back with her feet propped up on Jade’s bedroll. “We could capture a dragooner and fly the flute over the walls.”

“And I could ride Fisticuffs underneath you so I can catch you when you’re shot down,” Jade said, firing invisible crossbows skyward.

“Bullshit,” the feisty child-woman snapped back. “I’d kafrizzle their asses in flight.”

Serena nibbled her apple. “Oh, Veronica, you’re being delusional again.”

Veronica shrugged, giving her younger sister a sigh of surrender. “So _why_ can’t we use the tunnels again?”

Jade tried to tamp down her irritation. It was the fourth time Veronica had asked. “The monsters are piled too deep. Whether or not they’ve located the exit yet, we can’t get in that way, and El can’t get out.”

“Oh, fuck this. I can’t stand just sitting here. Let’s see if we can be useful somewhere else in the camp.” Veronica rolled to her feet and stretched. “If nothing else, I could use some whip practice.” She patted the deadly coil at her hip.

Serena stood. “I’m with you. It’s too depressing just sitting and waiting.”

“Darlings! Why so glum?” As one, the women turned, huge smiles lighting their faces. “After all, honey, the cavalry is here!”

“Oh, Sylvando!” cried Serena, running to give their old friend a hug.

He hugged each of them in turn, Jade last. She held him at arms’ length, taking in the grey eyes, impossibly long lashes, and high cheekbones. “You’re a sight, Sylv,” she said. “How’s the theater coming?”

Sylvando removed his cowboy hat and bowed. “We opened three weeks ago to standing ovations,” he said. “After Papi gave the project his blessing, everyone in Puerto Valor chipped in to help. People have been coming from as far away as Champs Sauvage and Gondolia already! And we have plenty of dashing soldiers in town who can’t wait see the shows,” he gave Jade a broad wink, “or the after-shows.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Serena. “We’ll simply have to come and visit when this is all over.”

Veronica grinned, “That’s the spirit, Serena! We can break this siege! I know we can.”

Sylvando looked down. “Oh, honey, I’m not so sure that’s going to be as easy as you think. Didn’t you see all those horrible monsters out there?”

“Don’t piss on my parade, Sylvando.”

He lifted his chin. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You know how I love parades.”

“Come along,” said Jade, taking his hand. “I’ll show you around the encampment. Maybe a new set of eyes will help us see things differently.”

“Of course, darling. We’ll put our great minds together and surely something will come to us.”

The four friends pushed through the tent flap into the warm afternoon

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Evening _

Dora-in-Grey

Several dullahan soldiers marched by where Dora-in-Grey stood in her usual sulk, combing her fingers through her long, green tresses. One of their shields cat called her and she loosed a thorny tentacle with such ferocity the offending headless warrior found himself also short one leg. She turned and drifted away before he even began howling in pain.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “If _Mordegon_ were still here, if I still had the powers _he_ gave me, there would be nothing _left_ of that pervert.” Secretly, she had enjoyed the dullahan’s attention, of course. Any acknowledgement of her superior beauty was praise rightly given. On the other hand, dullahan were hideously ugly. He didn’t deserve to be in such close proximity to her anyway.

The momentary satisfaction of inflicting pain in the name of beauty failed to sustain her mood, and she was soon sulking again. She missed her mural, her dimension, her powers, her _size_. After that filthy Luminary had defeated her, and before she lost consciousness, she assumed the next thing she saw would be her beloved Mordegon resurrecting her and restoring her to her former glory. But no. Instead it was some horrible _woman_ , as pale as a maggot, with small breasts and big plans.

Humph. The woman had told her Mordegon had never intended to bring Dora-in-Grey back after her defeat. That in fact, he _had_ gained his ultimate power for a short time and had simply not done so. But _she_ , the so-called Dark Lady, had a proposition for Dora. She would give Dora the opportunity to take her revenge on the Luminary, and _then_ she would _reward_ Dora for doing so by restoring her powers _and_ her rulership of The Other Side _and_ all of Phnom Non and Champs Sauvage. Well, after Dora helped her resurrect some evil entity called Calasmos, whoever that was. Dora was sure he would be no match for her beloved Mordegon.

Maybe the Dark Lady was telling the truth about the Lord of Shadows. Maybe not. It certainly didn’t matter anymore because that foul Luminary had defeated _him,_ too! Ugh. Fine. She would happily kill that stupid circus performer who thought he was so much prettier than she was. It would be _totally_ satisfying to wipe his ever-smiling face off the planet. And if the Dark Lady followed through? Well, so much the better.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Evening _

Beatrice

“Well,” Markus said, stretching his arms and back, “it has been a most enjoyable day. But I’m afraid we need to bring it to a close.”

Beatrice lay naked, slumped against the wall, fresh bruises purpling her arms and ringing her neck, blood oozing from a split in her cheek. She struggled to keep her eyes open, to keep focused on Hendrik on the other side of those wretched bars. The tears that stubbornly refused to cease had left them swollen, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. She did not want him to think she had been broken.

She willed her body into motion and crawled to where her dress had been flung. Breathing through the pain in her shoulder and everywhere else, she struggled back into the shift, leaving the overlay in a heap.

Markus knocked twice on the door, but instead of leaving when it opened, he leaned into the hallway and came back in holding a simple spear. “Last chance, dear Beatrice,” he said, sauntering the length of the room. He stepped into the smaller cell and fixed Hendrik with a grin. “Will you decipher those books and help the Dark Lady bring back Calasmos?”

She knew silence had to be her only answer, and she kept it.

“Are you sure?” he asked, lifting the spear and aiming it at Hendrik’s bare chest.

Wait, now. What was he doing? Fighting exhaustion, pain, and grief, she pulled herself up on the wall and stumbled toward the inner cell. Elvan sidled up next to her, tail twitching.

“Come, now, Beatrice.” Markus’ voice dripped a sickly sweetness. “I know you love this man. I heard that you confessed it to him right before he left Sniflheim. And when is the last time you could say that about anyone?”

Her breath quickened, pulse raced. Hendrik caught her eyes, her panicked expression, and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“I mean, after Duncan…”

Beatrice winced.

“…how tragic it would be to lose the first man you’ve loved since.”

No. Great Yggdrasil, no.

“So what say you, great scholar of Dundrasil? Just a few days of your time, just the use of the skills only you seem to possess. Does that seem too great a price to pay?”

_They will do everything in their power to break you._

Markus scowled, eyes flinty. “Silence will not save you,” he spat. “You will make your choice. Out loud. You will take responsibility for what happens next.”

Hendrik would lay down his life for the Luminary, to protect the world from darkness. But could she make that decision for him?

His eyes remained calm. Soft, even. Warm and safe, just as when she had first seen them. She heard his voice in her head from that long ago day. _All will be well._ And she believed him.

“I willnae help you.”

In a single, fluid motion, Markus spun, drew back the spear, and drove it into Hendrik’s chest.

Time slowed. A scream ripped from Beatrice’s throat and she flung herself at the bars. Elvan’s massive tail wrapped around her waist in mid-leap, stopping her, while her arms and head continued their momentum. Her heart shattered at the sound of the spearhead crashing into the stone behind Hendrik, the sight of his face crumbling in agony, and his head falling forward, his long hair spilling over his shoulders to curtain his face.

Then it was done, and she hung limp in Elvan’s reptilian grip, sobs wracking her body.

Markus pulled her up by her hair. “This was fun,” he said. “See you tomorrow then?” He let go and made as if to walk out, but then stopped, came back and lifted her head again. “By the way,” he said, “it’s not mortal. There’s no way I’d lose my best motivating tool.” He leaned in close and smiled. “But now I know I can break you. Just give me time.”

Elvan laid Beatrice on the floor and slithered over to the inner cell. Looping his tail around the end of the spear, he yanked, then touched the wound and murmured three words. Hendrik’s body convulsed, then went limp again. Satisfied, the sherpent closed the inner cell door and slithered out after the single most hateful man Beatrice could possibly imagine.


	24. Chapter 24

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 10, Night _

Beatrice

The sound of the door creaking open roused Beatrice from where she lay, still in the spot where Elvan had set her down hours earlier. She could not find the strength of will to move. Her grief and exhaustion rivaled that of the night Dundrasil had fallen, tempered only by the thought that, at least for the moment, Hendrik still lived. Yet she had no belief anymore that he would survive this ordeal. That either of them would.

She heard a heavy object make contact with the stone floor, followed by a faint clinking. A sudden clatter of what sounded like dropped keys filled the room. “ _¡Joder! **[1]**_ ”

Isabella.

Beatrice pushed herself up and peered through the semi-dark. Two of the three lanterns had gone out, and she could just make out the dim shape of the Valorian serving girl groping on the stones. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you,” she said. “Like I’m supposed to.”

Beatrice cocked her head. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to not ask me any questions.” She snatched up the fallen keys and stood. “Come help me,” she said, and walked to the door of the inner cell. With a creak and a clank, the lock opened and the door swung inward. Isabella flipped through a few other of the metal openers and landed on one that looked like it would fit the manacles. “Hold him up,” she said.

It was a ludicrous request considering his size and the state of her body, but Beatrice did her best, crouching under his arm and pushing up with her legs, while Isabella unfastened the first cuff. He swung downward, shoving Beatrice to the floor. “This isnae working,” she muttered, but clambered to her feet and tried again on the other side. When the second cuff opened, Hendrik slumped forward in a heap, and it took both of them to roll him onto his back.

“Dear Yggdrasil, his skin is like ice,” Beatrice said. Were it not for the fact of his shallow breathing, she would have thought him dead.

“Wait a minute, I have warm water.” Isabella scampered off and retrieved a basin and a pile of towels from by the door. She drew a sponge and a cake of soap from the water, and proceeded to cleanse the site of the spear wound, along with all the blood that had dried on his skin over the course of the day. “We’ll have to roll him over again,” she said. “I need to clean the other side of the wound.”

Beatrice cocked her head. “How did you know it goes all the way through?”

Isabella scowled. “Markus was bragging about it. _¡Cábrón!_ ” she spat.

Fluent in almost every language in Erdrea, Beatrice agreed whole-heartedly with Isabella’s calling Markus a bastard arsehole. Fortified by the girl’s spirit, she helped Isabella haul Hendrik over onto a towel, and watched as Isabella washed the exit wound and all of his back and arms with the same gentle thoroughness with which she seemed to do everything.

“Will you get in terrible trouble for this?” Beatrice asked, anxiety for the girl weaving itself into the tapestry of her despair.

She shrugged. “Believe it or not, the Dark Lady is kind to me.”

“It’s nae her I’m worried about,” Beatrice replied.

Isabella dropped the soap and sponge back into the basin and handed Beatrice a soft towel. “That _cábrón_ is forbidden to touch us,” she said, taking a second towel and beginning to pat Hendrik’s body dry. “The Dark Lady prefers her slaves be healthy and unafraid—she says they are much happier to serve her that way, and do better work.”

Beatrice pressed the cotton cloth against Hendrik’s skin, being careful not to re-open the wound Elvan had superficially closed. “Slaves, not servants?”

“Not much difference in my experience,” the girl replied.

Hendrik began to shiver as the warm water on his skin evaporated. Dropping her towel, Beatrice made haste to her bed and brought back the blankets. She gathered all the straw she could and piled it next to him. “Help me get him on his side,” she said, and they rolled him onto the straw. His trembling increased, his shallow breathing becoming labored.

Beatrice lay down behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle, pulling her body as close to him as possible. “Can you cover us, Lass?”

Isabella tucked the blankets tightly around them, then used the dirty water to clean the blood from the stone floor under the manacles. Finished, she gathered the basin and towels and set them outside the inner cell.

No matter how tightly Beatrice held him, Hendrik’s body remained cold and his shivering continued. “I cannae get him warm,” she said, her voice betraying her anxiety.

“Let me help,” Isabella replied, and crawled under the blankets, curling up with her back against Hendrik’s chest. “Oh, his teeth are chattering. Can you hear that?”

They lay in silence in a huddled pile long moments before the knight’s body went still, and warmth began to emanate from him. Isabella emerged from the little cocoon and sat up, leaning her side against the unconscious man and peering down at Beatrice. “I should go,” she said. “The guards change soon, and once Caden goes off duty, I won’t be able to sneak out of here without someone noticing.”

“They’ll know you’ve been here anyway,” Beatrice cautioned.

Once again, Isabella shrugged. “I’ll be back to give you breakfast in a few hours. We can maybe try to make things look like they did when Elvan and that _cábrón_ left last night.”

Gratitude flowed through Beatrice. How could such generosity of spirit exist in this horrible place, under the auspices of one such as the Dark Lady. It didn’t make any sense. Why allow anyone to be so kind to Beatrice when the goal was to break her, to force her to go against everything she believed, everything she was? There had to be a reason. Was it possible that Beatrice’s willingness was required in some way? That in the end she had to choose freely to assist in whatever dark ritual was intended?

A flash of that image…of herself but in a monstrous form, horns protruding from within her hair, dark purple, ragged wings. It gripped her, sending a thrill of terror through her, but also of excitement. She shook it off, curling in closer to Hendrik.

“Thank you, Isabella,” she said. “Truly you are a gift from Yggdrasil.”

The girl rose, a small smile drifting across her face. “You’re welcome,” she said, and slipped out of the inner cell. Beatrice heard her pick up the basin, and the sound of her light footfalls crossing the outer room. A light knock on the door was answered by the creak of it opening and a harshly whispered, “Took you long enough,” before the door thudded shut, and the bolt shot home.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 11, 2a.m. _

The Headless Honcho

A stallion, massive, black, and heavily armored stood motionless at the crest of a knoll overlooking the field. Astride, his hideous shield-face resting against the horse’s crinet, the Headless Honcho licked his iron lips. It would be the second time he enjoyed the utter destruction of Dundrasil, and even better, he would be able to finish the job he had failed to bring to fruition all those years ago, when he let that simpering brat of a Luminary slip through his fingers.

He had never been satisfied only with the murder of the infant boy’s mother, especially when he figured out she had fooled him, drawing him away from his actual target. He scowled at the memory, and his horse tramped in the dirt, as if sensing his agitation. No matter. Only one thing remained between him and that final, sweet prize. The Dark Lady had insisted he take out Lord Robert first. He conceded the wisdom of it—that snot-nosed upstart Luminary had always been surrounded by other people willing to do his work for him. Best to deprive him of all of them, then leave him vulnerable.

On the other hand, he had no real loyalty to the Dark Lady, and given the opportunity, he would kill the Luminary on sight, whether or not Lord Robert still lived. Mordegon had given him that order, and despite the dark wizard’s demise, he would follow through on the original command. After all, who was to say Mordegon would not return? The Honcho himself had been brought back from hell for the sole purpose of spreading death and terror throughout Erdrea.

Of course she had promised to elevate him, to grant him mythical status and the power to spread such darkness as Mordegon had only dreamed of. A leering grin spread across his shield at just the thought. How much more might she reward him if he destroyed the Luminary himself? He would have to watch for the opportunity. It would not be long now.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 11, Morning _

Hendrik

The feeling of softness on bare skin, the scent of soap, and the sound of Beatrice’s even breathing escorted Hendrik back to consciousness, and for a moment he forgot where he was. Then he moved, and the deep ache in his ribcage brought it all back.

Steeling himself against the pain, he rolled over and drew Beatrice’s head against his chest, wrapping his great arms around her and kissing the top of her head. Not waking, she snuggled into him and he hugged her tighter. He had no memory of being taken off the wall and tended to, or of anything after the moment Markus had driven the spear into his body, but he suspected that Isabella had something to do with it. Would she suffer consequences for her kindness? Likely. Her youth and naivety could not possibly serve her well in such a place as this.

As if in response to his thought, he heard the outer cell door creak open, and looked up to see her come in carrying a large basin, then duck back out to return with a covered basket. Halfway toward the inner cell, she noticed his eyes on her and smiled.

“Good morning,” she said. “I managed to sneak a little extra food this morning.”

Concern creased Hendrik’s brow. “You are playing with fire,” he said as softly as he could.

She huffed. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been here for three years. I’ve seen and heard terrible things.”

“Then why…?”

Isabella set the basket of food on the floor and pulled the linen towel aside, drawing out an apple and handing it to him. “For the first year, I cried every day,” she said. “For the second year, I think I was just numb.” She sighed. “Then I just gave up caring. I’m clothed, I’m fed, I have work to do, and the Dark Lady keeps Markus and the others away from me. Is this any worse than any other life?”

Apple in hand, Hendrik said, “It will be.”

She shrugged. “Fine. Bring it. I could use a change.”

He shook his head. “Do not be foolish. You do not know what you are asking for. You are only a child.” Beatrice stirred in his arms, roused by the resonance of his voice. Before she could wake completely, he looked Isabella in the eyes and added, “And would you have whatever horrific fate awaits you rest on Beatrice’s conscience?”

“She would think it was her fault.” A simple statement, perhaps a realization. He hated to make her feel guilty for what she had done, but he would hate it far more should she come to harm as a result. “ _Mierda_.”

“What’s shite?” Beatrice murmured into Hendrik’s chest. He loosened his embrace and she rolled over.

“Isn’t everything?” asked Isabella, handing her some bread.

Hendrik pushed himself up to sitting and bit into the apple. “How long do we have?” he asked.

“A while. Markus tends to sleep in.”

“Good. We must do everything we can to keep him from knowing the extent of your help.”

Around a bite of bread, Beatrice said, “That willnae be easy. But I do have an idea.”

Hendrik

An hour later, when Markus and Elvan sauntered into the room—if a snake can be said to saunter—Hendrik once again knelt, shackled, in his cell, but with blankets over his shoulders and Beatrice and the basin of water at his feet.

Markus scowled. “What is the meaning of this?”

Beatrice stood, fists clenched. “Your daft _squire_ never locked the door,” she said, indicating the sherpent with her head. “Well done, ye mangled fud[2], and thanks.” She strode out of the little enclosure and flew at Markus, shoving him with all her formidable size and strength. “And _you_! You said you didnae kill him, but left him in such a state he might have died anyway from the shock of it!” Had their situation not been so dire, Hendrik might have allowed himself to marvel at her performance. Though its motivation was genuine enough.

Markus snatched her wrists and held her away from him, rage darkening his brow. “I think you have forgotten just what is happening here,” he growled, and flung her to the stone floor so that she landed on her still-injured shoulder.

Hendrik winced at her muffled cry, but followed her with his eyes, so that she would always be able to look back and see that he was with her. He had been utterly destroyed by what Markus had put her through the previous day, and yet deeply moved by her strength. Despite his best efforts thus far, Markus had not broken either of them. But Hendrik knew the man was just getting started.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 11, Mid-morning _

Erik

Erik heard running feet and braced for impact.

With a whoop, Mia performed her customary hand spring off the edge of the bed and landed on her back with her feet right between her brother and El. Well, not so much _between_ as solidly _on_ , since Erik had his body spooned around El as they slept.

“Good morning, Mia,” the Luminary groaned, sounding decidedly less than luminous.

Erik shot out his left arm, grabbed Mia’s knees, whipped her over him to the side of the bed and proceeded to tickle her mercilessly while she wailed in delight. “I’m tellin’ ya, kid, you keep trying to kill El and I’m cutting off your allowance.”

“WHAT?” She bolted upright, scowling, but couldn’t hang on to it with all the tickling. “S-stop!” she laughed. “I’m serious!” She wriggled out of his grasp and onto the floor.

“So am I,” Erik said, grinning.

El sighed and sat up, sliding his feet over the side of the bed. Erik reached out and rubbed his hand between El’s shoulder blades. He knew El was at the end of his wits, and it probably didn’t help to have a rambunctious nine-year-old exploding all over the place, but Erik felt like he needed to maintain a certain level of levity, of _normalcy_ in the face of their predicament.

Mia wasn’t stupid. She knew they were all in serious danger. So if it helped her to alleviate her anxiety by being a spaz, Erik couldn’t really argue.

“I’m sorry, El,” she said suddenly, and Erik wondered if she’d finally picked up on El’s level of concern. Mia padded around the bed and stood in front of her brother’s fiancé. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

El heaved an indulgent sigh, the ghost of a smile playing across his features. “You didn’t,” he said. “And it was time to get up anyway.”

The young girl pulled her long, dark braid over her shoulder and picked at it. “Except there isn’t much for breakfast,” she said, mournful. “Rab even gave me some of his, and I’m still hungry.”

Erik laid a hand on her head. “We’ve all gotta tighten our belts, kid. You know that.”

“Yeah, but how much longer?”

“We’re working on it. Why don’t you go see if Rab needs help counting the treasury again.”

Mia put her hands on her hips. “Last time I helped him, he didn’t even give me any of it,” she groused. “Not even as an accounting fee. How’m I gonna get rich if he’s so stingy?”

“I’ll have a word with him,” El said. “But for now, why don’t you listen to Erik and give us a moment.”

“Okay,” she said, defeated. “See you later?” she asked her brother.

“Count on it,” he answered, and she scampered out of the room, taking all the joy right out with her.

As soon as the door clicked shut, El stood up and walked to the window. “A week, Erik,” he said. “Even rationing, we have a week.”

Erik ran a hand through his unruly hair, “I know.”

“Don’t you think it would be a little ironic if the Luminary was finally taken out not in some epic battle, but just because he starved to death?”

“They’re out there, El. I know they are.” The thief took El’s hand, but El pulled away.

“Really? Where?” He slapped the window. “The only thing I see is a sea of monsters. Do you really think no one’s noticed and sent for help? Where’s Heliodor, at the very least?” His voice rose with his agitation. “If they were out there, we’d _see_ them.”

Erik had to concede the point. Sure, the monster horde was probably way too numerous for even King Carnelian’s forces to defeat. But he had fully expected Jade and Hendrik to at least bring them to the field, to be planning _some_ way to get El out of here. Because if this kind of darkness was still running amok in Erdrea even after Calasmos was gone, they were going to need El.

He took El’s hand again and gripped it tight, pulling the Luminary to face him. “Say what you will about Carnelian,” he said, “but the only other people on this planet who love you as much as Rab and I do are Hendrik, Jade, Sylvando, Serena, and Veronica. They’re out there, El, and they won’t rest until they find a way to get us out.”

El sagged. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t like sitting around waiting to be rescued.”

“Ah, you’re just hangry,” Erik said, leaning in to kiss El. “Let’s go scavenge for whatever’s available. In a pinch, I hear tree bark can be quite satisfying.”

“That’s not funny, you know,” El said, smiling and poking Erik in the collar bone.

“Sure it is. Now let’s get down to the kitchen before Mia eats _my_ breakfast, too.”

[1] “Fuck!”

[2] Misshapen cunt


	25. Chapter 25

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 11, Afternoon _

Hendrik

Hendrik had lost feeling in one arm, a fact for which he might have felt gratitude, if he’d had enough sense left to feel anything other than pain. The arm was well and truly broken, along with several ribs, and possibly a hip. What little he could see of his own body was covered in bruises or jagged gashes where the spikes on Markus’ bludgeon had made contact. His nostrils stung with the acrid stench of his own burning flesh from the places where his torturer had branded him with hot iron. He had long let go of any attempts to manage his pain. He could hardly draw breath, much less breathe deeply as required for proper meditation. The combination of blood loss and multiple blows to his head had left him entirely addled, aware only that at any moment, another attack would come.

Now and then he would hear Markus demanding Beatrice’s capitulation, and at the very least he thought he was glad she would not comply. Early on, he had heard the longest string of the most colorfully foul Drasilian vituperation imaginable, and some delirious part of his brain hoped that she would one day teach him to swear like that. But Beatrice had long since broken down, and her sobs had wounded him more deeply than Markus could have at first. Now, he no longer heard her, either because she had ceased weeping or because of the ringing in his ears. He did not know how long he could cling to consciousness, nor why he should want to anymore.

Just as his senses began to slip, Elvan’s coils encircled him and he felt, more than heard, the sound of the great sherpent speaking. A powerful wave rolled outward from the snake’s scales, through Hendrik’s chest and into his extremities. The pain ceased, bruises healed, bones knit, burns vanished. Hendrik gulped air, suddenly feeling a stranger in his own body. His head snapped up, eyes searching for Beatrice.

She sat just on the other side of the bars, hugging her knees, face wet and swollen. Her normally vibrant brown eyes were dull with grief, though a shudder of relief passed through her the moment their eyes met.

Markus had wandered out of the inner cell and stood leaning on the table, a strip of dried meat in one hand. “Clearly this is getting us nowhere,” he said with his mouth full. “I nearly knocked Hendrik senseless, and what fun is it if he can’t feel anything anymore?”

Elvan slithered to his compatriot. “I thought that’s what the healing was for. Now you have a fresh palette.”

“Mm. Certainly it would be fun to start all over again, but I think I have a better idea.” He took another bite. “It’s something that just occurred to me early this morning. Something that would destroy several people, unless Beatrice chose to stop it.”

“Sounds intriguing,” the sherpent said, bobbing his head up and down. “Though you do have a tendency to talk a big game without delivering.”

“You’ll see. Just give me a few moments.” Markus knocked to be let out of the room and vanished into whatever lay outside.

Beatrice’s face held fresh anxiety, and Hendrik said quietly, “I am well.”

She shook her head and rocked where she sat. “For how long?”

He held her gaze, willing her to be reassured by his eyes the way she long had been. But he had just now begun to fear that she might not be able to endure. Everything about her seemed as though she had been the one beaten, burned, slashed and broken. And so she had, he knew, for nothing is more unbearable than to see someone you love in pain and be unable to stop it. “For now,” he said.

She nodded, her vision seeming to unfocus.

“Beatrice. Stay with me.” She blinked hard. “You are by far the strongest person I have ever known,” he said. “And no matter what happens here, know that you are not abandoned. Yggdrasil is with us.”

Elvan laughed and slithered over, placing his head in between them and breaking their eye contact. “Oh come _on_. What nonsense. That big old _tree_ goddess just floats overhead. She doesn’t actually _do_ anything.” He circled Beatrice, wrapping her in a loose coil. “Beatrice, Beatrice, Beatrice, _honestly_. What has Yggdrasil ever done for you after all? Let everyone you’ve ever loved die? Well, we’re working on the last one, but you get the point.” His tongue tasted the air around her. “You’d be far better off throwing in with someone who can actually give you power, not some namby pamby nature goddess who _at best_ might make flowers bloom in your wake.”

Hendrik could not see Beatrice to know how she was responding to the sherpent’s blasphemy. In her mental state…

“Yer bum’s oot the windae ye fuckin’ bampot[1],” she growled.

Hendrik actually laughed, but it died on his lips when the door swung inward to reveal Markus, his hand gripped tightly around Isabella’s upper arm. In his other hand were two of the dark books.

Elvan raised his head to ceiling height and turned around, slithering back to the door. “Um, Markus,” he said, “did you get clearance for this?”

“If it works, I don’t need clearance.” He shoved Isabella into the room. “Besides, she has this coming.”

Dread settled into Hendrik’s gut. It was as he’d feared—Markus knew.

Beatrice ran toward the girl, but Elvan stopped her with a quick coil of his tail, lifting her off the ground and pinning her to the wall.

“Leave her alone,” she snapped. “She’s a child! She isnae any part of this!”

“Oh, music to my ears,” Markus drawled, closing his eyes in rapture. “It sounds like I’ve finally hit a nerve.” He walked over to Beatrice and smiled. “But don’t you worry. I won’t lay a finger on the little whore.” He turned to Isabella and pulled a key out of his pocket. “Be a dear, _Isabella_ ,” he said, tossing it to her, “and unchain Hendrik for me, will you?”

Isabella looked back and forth between Beatrice and Hendrik, eyes huge, mouth slightly open. “Dinnae listen to him,” Beatrice said.

Unsheathing his dagger, Markus said to Isabella, “You will listen to me, or I will stab Beatrice repeatedly until you do.”

A panicked squeak bubbled up from the girl and she scampered into the inner cell. Hendrik met her gaze and said quietly, “You must not do as he says.”

Tears started in her eyes. “But Beatrice…”

“She is strong. For your own sake, trust me.”

“I’m waiting!” Markus yelled and Isabella whipped her head around in time to see him slide his cruel blade into the flesh of Beatrice’s arm. The Drasilian let out a growl through gritted teeth, but did not cry out. It didn’t matter. Isabella grasped one of the cuffs with a trembling hand and inserted the key. The moment the restraint fell from Hendrik’s wrist, he grabbed Isabella’s arm and held her away from him.

“I cannot let you do this,” he said.

Isabella was crying now, twisting in Hendrik’s grasp, trying to look back at Beatrice. “Stop,” she said, though whether to Markus or himself, Hendrik wasn’t sure. She shrieked as Markus stabbed Beatrice in the shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain.

“Hendrik, please!” Isabella begged.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Markus said, “this is hardly sporting, Hendrik. Look what you’re already putting the child through. Just let her free you.” Hendrik did not respond, and finally Markus said, “Elvan, if you please?”

Still holding Beatrice against the side wall with his tail, the rest of the sherpent crossed the floor into the smaller cell, Markus right behind him. With his powerful jaw, Elvan gripped Hendrik’s free arm and twisted until Isabella dropped free. She scrambled to unlock the other manacle, and the moment she did so, Elvan snapped back out of the cell, and Markus slammed the door and locked it.

Isabella backed into a corner and waited, trembling. Markus strolled over to her and pulled a wad of Krystalinda’s noise-blocking putty out of a pouch. “Put this in your ears,” he said, handing it through the bars.

“Why?” Her voice shook with fear.

Markus gave her what could have been a sympathetic smile, except it dripped with duplicity. “You’ll want to trust me on this. What’s about to happen is not for such pure, young ears as yours.” Isabella accepted the substance and pulled it into two equal-sized blobs. “Be sure to get it way down in,” Markus said. “If you’ve done it right, you should hear absolutely nothing but the sound of your own heart beating.”

Nodding, the girl crammed the stuff into one ear and then the other. When she had finished, her eyes widened. Markus snapped right in front of her face and she shook her head. “Perfect,” he said, wandering back to the center of the room and holding out one of the books to Elvan. “Now she’ll be no willing participant in this, but just an innocent victim, which will be _so_ much more traumatic.” He grinned.

The snake dropped Beatrice to the floor and slithered around her, holding her in a center coil while his tail took the book from Markus. He opened it and flipped through the pages with his dry tongue. “Ooh, I got the good one again,” he said.

“Markus, you cannae do this.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I can and I will unless you stop it. All you have to do is say the word.”

Beatrice sought Hendrik’s eyes, wordlessly begging him for help. Hendrik shook his head. Though he knew what lay in store, he would not urge her to help the Dark Lady, even for Isabella’s sake. He walked to the opposite end of the cell from the young serving girl and wrapped his fingers around the bars, then closed his eyes and began to pray.

No sooner had he done so than Markus and Elvan started to read the two dark books in unison.

Despite his years of centering practice, of meditating through all manner of chaos and pain, Hendrik’s mind was immediately seized by the twisting words weaving themselves through his consciousness. His body went taut as a surge of fury clutched at his chest simultaneously with an urge in his loins so powerful it ripped a groan from him.

 _Isabella_. Isabella had done this thing to them. Stupid girl! That naïve and self-centered bitch had forced Beatrice into a position far more precarious than if she had just left well enough alone! How dare she think she was above retribution, and so cause others to suffer! He would teach her a lesson. And how better than to show her what men are truly capable of!

He flung himself across the cell, grabbing Isabella around the waist and throwing her down onto the pile of straw, oblivious to her crying out. She lay motionless below him, eyes wild, tears flowing again, but he did not see. He was aware only of the bloom of her ripening hips and breasts, the impossible delicacy of her new womanhood, and the all-consuming need to own it, and own it violently. He drew in a ragged breath.

Beatrice was shouting, but it was lost in the roping words that bound him, the goading words that drove him. With a howl of rage, Hendrik dropped to his knees, straddling the terrified girl. “This is what you have caused!” he shouted at her. “And now it will cost you everything!” He grasped the neckline of her dress, preparing to tear it away, and she laid a hand on his.

The gentleness of her gesture caught at something in his consciousness and he looked at her face, registered the tears, the fear.

“Please don’t,” she said. “Please.”

Now guilt entered into the dance of wrath and lust, fueling the former and poisoning the latter, and Hendrik clenched his fists. He drew back as if to strike her, then punched into the straw beside her ear. She shrieked and rolled over, scrambling to get to her feet and away from him. Hendrik caught her ankle and sent her falling on her face, then dragged her back across the rough stone. He rolled her onto her back, picked her up by the shoulders, and slammed her into the wall, eliciting a cry of pain.

She slid down onto her feet and he grabbed both of her delicate wrists with one great hand and slapped them against the wall over her head. With the other he gripped the top of her dress again and yanked with all his strength. The layers of muslin and linen ripped asunder in his grip, exposing Isabella’s body to the cold of the room. The sight of her small, high breasts and the dark silk between her legs drove Hendrik mad with desire.

But something in him rebelled. How would he live with himself? How would she ever be able to look at him again? She? She who? Something clutched at his heart. Beatrice. He had to fight this. Had to drive these voices out of his mind, out of his body. _Yggdrasil! Help me!_

A vision of the tranquil paths along the World Tree’s branches danced before his eyes. The twisting track, carpeted with moss, dappled with sunlight through the countless souls that decorated her limbs. Yggdrasil drew him deeper, leading him higher and higher. And at the end of a small bough that looked as if it could not possibly bear his weight, grew a single, delicate leaf, pale green and shining. _Isabella_ , he heard, and was overcome with such tenderness for that strong, young sprout it brought him to tears.

Hendrik released Isabella and stumbled to the corner furthest from her. He dropped to his knees and began praying as he wept, and all the hateful words clawing at him from within and without were silenced. He did not know how long he remained in that state, had no awareness of what was happening around him until at length he heard enraged swearing. Then a sudden, massive blow to the side of his head leveled him, and he knew no more.

[1] You’re talking rubbish, you unhinged tit.


	26. Chapter 26

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 11, Late afternoon _

Jade

The first lines of Valorian soldiers appeared as a shimmering snake moving slowly northward from the foothills of the Lower Drasilian Range. A trumpet sounded from the watchtower that had been constructed in the center of the Heliodorian camp, signaling the arrival of their allies from the south. Sylvando had informed Sir Aldrich that Don Rodrigo had mobilized two regiments to aid in the crisis at hand. It wasn’t as much as the Heliodorian general had hoped, but Puerto Valor could not be asked to leave its own borders undefended, considering what was occurring in Dundrasil.

The troops began setting up camp in waves as they arrived, while their leader, Don Mateo, marched directly for Sir Aldrich’s tent. Jade greeted him at the doorway and ushered him into the dim space, where a cluster of people stood around a table looking at a map of the new city. She introduced him first to Sir Aldrich, and then to Vince Vanquish, the volunteer general of Octagonia’s modest fighting force. “What we lack in numbers, we make up for in total dedication,” the erstwhile wrestler declared.

“I can vouch for that, honey,” Sylvando said.

Jade indicated the rest of her friends and said, “These are three of the Luminary’s circle.”

“Along with you,” Serena added, then turned to Don Mateo. “I am Serena of Arboria, priestess of Yggdrasil.” She gave a formal curtsey.

“And _I’m_ Veronica of Arboria, badass wizard.” She flashed a pair of victory signs.

“Sylvando you already know, of course,” Jade said. “We are all at your service in working out our plan of intervention. Though we are waiting on one more. Sir Hendrik of Dundrasil is coming from Sniflheim, hopefully with at least small contingent—Queen Frysabel has little need of a large military considering the remoteness and harsh climate of her kingdom. At any rate, we expect him tomorrow.”

The Valorian general nodded, an easy smile on his chiseled face, dark eyes sweeping over the assembled party with approval. Sir Aldrich said, “With your regiments, we have now assembled a total fighting force of approximately 4,000. Of yours, how many are archers, and how many foot soldiers?”

“Roughly 500 of each,” Don Mateo replied, “and 100 mounted.”

“Good to know.”

“And our opposition?” asked the Valorian general.

Sir Aldrich turned and indicated the map. “It has been difficult to ascertain. There appears to be a great deal of movement within the enemy camp. We estimate upwards of 10,000 on the eastern field, with another one to two thousand,” he said, pointing, “across the river _on_ the plateau and surrounding the castle wall. The bridge is easily defensible. We have no chance of reaching the castle without completely obliterating the entire force on the river level.” He moved his finger along the river to the small plain on the west side of the river fork. “Another thousand hold the southern field where the escape tunnel comes out, so that’s not an option either. And the quarters are so tight in that area, we wouldn’t be able to maneuver a force down there to clear out the exit.”

“So they outnumber us three to one.” Don Mateo scratched his two-day beard.

“Roughly. It does seem as though every time one of our scouts reports in, the number is slightly different. As few as 10,000 and as many as 15,000.”

“Can you account for the inconsistency?” asked Jade.

Sir Aldrich frowned. “It is certainly not due to lack of skill from the scouts. Possibly the monsters are hunting in the surrounding countryside in large numbers. These armies have to be feeding themselves somehow…at least, the ones that actually eat.”

“Is there any indication of how the besieged fare?” the Valorian general asked. “It has been, what, eleven days now since the siege began?”

“No word,” Sir Aldrich replied. “And no sign of life at all, truth be told. No signals, no appearances of anyone on the battlements.”

“Do you not find that odd?”

Sir Aldrich nodded. “Certainly. Though we would expect them to do everything they can to avoid being taken out by enemy archers or dragons, we would also assume some attempt would have been made to communicate with us. It leads us to fear that there may be something else within the walls preventing this.”

“Mm.” Don Mateo glanced from Jade to Serena, Veronica, and Sylvando in turn. “I do not wish to discourage you, but has it occurred to you that the Luminary has already come to serious harm?”

Veronica scowled, shoving her fists onto her hips. “Don’t even suggest it,” she snapped. “If he were dead, why would all these fucking monsters still be here?”

“I think if the Luminary were dead, we would know it,” Serena added, frowning thoughtfully. “Or at least, I feel I would have received word from Yggdrasil.”

Sylvando put a hand to his chin. “But now that you mention it, honey, it certainly does seem that something is rotten in Dundrasil.” He turned to the women. “Darlings? I think some investigation is in order!”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 11, Late afternoon _

Beatrice

Beatrice adjusted her blanket behind her and tried to get comfortable with her back against the iron bars of the inner cell. Isabella had finally drifted into a fitful sleep in her arms, and the weight of the girl increased the discomfort of leaning on the uneven surface, while also causing her still-aching collar bone to throb.

The serving girl had been left there to compose herself, with Markus making it clear that she was to say nothing to anyone, to act as if it had never happened, or he would kill her himself and damn the consequences. She was to be back to her duties by the time she was due to bring Beatrice her evening meal. He had sent Elvan back with another dress and instructions to incinerate the torn one.

Beside her, on the other side of the bars, Hendrik lay where he had fallen, blood caked around the split above his temple. He breathed, thank Yggdrasil, but had not moved in an over an hour. Idly, she stroked his shoulder, wishing she had Elvan’s dark healing powers. That she had _any_ power to do anything other than simply endure. And _could_ she endure? She was beginning to doubt it.

The crushing, suffocating sense of complete helplessness exhausted and overwhelmed her, now and then settling into a dissociative numbness during which it felt as though all of this horror was happening to someone else, somewhere else, and she was merely a detached observer. The effort of lending whatever mental and emotional strength she could to the man she loved while a sadistic maniac inflicted savagery upon him left her hollow and aching. She had vowed to him that she would not let Markus break her, that she would never give in to his demands that she assist the Dark Lady. But seeing the way Markus had almost turned Hendrik into a violent rapist, into _Markus_ , at the expense of a child…that had come closer to breaking her than any physical torture she had witnessed or experienced thus far.

She looked down and brushed a wayward lock of hair out of Isabella’s tear-stained face. Part of her had begun to suspect that the Dark Lady had deliberately assigned this guileless girl to serve Beatrice with precisely the motive of letting Beatrice grow attached to her, so that she could be used as a bargaining chip. From just their one, brief meeting, Beatrice knew the depth of evil that woman was capable of, regardless of how well she supposedly treated her slaves.

Beatrice knew she could never serve the Dark Lady. But…did she really have no other options? Was it solely a choice between cooperating with a plan to resurrect Calasmos and witnessing the slow, systematic murder of the man she loved? Was there not a third option?

The idea had begun forming in the midst of one of her dissociative states earlier that morning, and at first she had ignored it. It was pure folly. Yet it danced at the edges of her consciousness on and off between moments of grievous despair, kept whispering hope in her ear like a tiny flame that might at any moment be snuffed out and yet persisted against logic, against sense.

And then they had read the books of wrath and lust in chorus. Yggdrasil might have granted her immunity to the evil urges elicited by those dark words, but the interweaving of multiple texts still drew Beatrice into a heightened state of thought and emotion. It called forth alien patterns and images, as if pulling her partially outside of time and space, her mind brushing against something so other, so primordial, it preceded Yggdrasil herself.

There she had seen it again, the small, luminescent creature with trailing arms. Its eyes were nothing but pools of black, yet seemed so clearly to express hope. And then the same flurry of shadows like a cloud of wheeling birds had obscured it and drawn her attention to compelling images of strength and power, that of darkness, but also her own strength and power. It beckoned her to become something greater, imbued with gifts of knowledge beyond imagining, and complete control. The control which in the actual moment of reality she lacked entirely.

The images of power had intrigued, even excited her. But it was the vision of that little creature that confirmed her earlier musings about another option, a way out of the hell she’d occupied for the past five days. She was convinced that if she could study the dark books again she _would_ find whatever error, whatever crack in the impenetrable stronghold of their evil would allow for their undoing.

“Isabella,” she whispered, running gentle fingers through the girl’s long waves. “Isabella, wake up.”

“ _Mami_?” Isabella murmured, then stretched against Beatrice’s chest and picked up her head. Her eyes came into focus and she sighed. “Oh. Sorry. I was dreaming.” She rolled out of Beatrice’s lap onto the floor and pushed to her feet. “I suppose I need to go now,” she said, her voice flat and lifeless.

“Aye, you dinnae want to give Markus any excuse to hurt you again.” Beatrice stood beside her and lifted her chin. “Are you alright, lass?”

Isabella nodded slowly, then glanced down at Hendrik’s motionless body. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.

“So am I, lass. So am I.” She hugged the girl, then held her at arm’s length. “Put your scarf back in your hair, and be about your duties. But when you go, get word to the Dark Lady that I wish to speak with her immediately.”

Isabella’s eyes widened. “You…you’re not…”

“Ach, dinnae question me, Isabella. I need you to trust me, and if this all goes horribly wrong, I will need your help. So for now, just do as I ask, and I’ll speak with you again in the morning.” Beatrice kept her voice kind, rather than demanding, and hoped it would be enough for Isabella to leave well enough alone.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The serving girl combed through her hair with her fingers, then bound it back with the grey scarf. She brushed the dust and straw from her dress and used her apron to wipe the dried tears and snot from her face. “Do I look as though I have been crying?” she asked.

Beatrice examined her critically. “Perhaps some, but in this lighting it isnae terribly obvious. I dinnae know how it is outside this room, though.”

“Not much different on this level of the fortress,” Isabella said, “and most of my duties keep me here. I don’t have to go up above ground level until bedtime.” It was the most she had ever said about their location, and Beatrice filed the information away. “I’ll be back with your evening meal in a little while.” She looked back at Hendrik one last time, sorrow and regret on her dark features, then knocked at the door to be let out.

Beatrice

By the time the door opened again, Hendrik still had not regained consciousness, so Beatrice stood to face her visitor in every way alone.

Markus and Elvan preceded the Dark Lady into the room, but Beatrice kept her eyes forward, refusing to see them, and waited until she was face to face with their master before acknowledging anyone’s presence.

“You sent for me,” the pale woman stated. Though her voice remained emotionless, Beatrice felt viscerally the underlying threat that if it was for any other reason than total capitulation, the consequences would be dire.

“Aye. I will continue my study of the dark books. And I will uncover whatever ritual they contain that will bring back the Dark One.” Peripherally, she could see a smug smile cross Markus’ features, as if he was taking credit for her change of heart. She ignored him. “But I have terms.”

The Dark Lady inclined her head slightly and said, “I will hear them.”

“First, you will deliver Sir Hendrik of Dundrasil, whole and healthy, to Princess Jade of Heliodor. Second, I will not be required to lay eyes on Markus or Elvan for the remainder of my sojourn here. Third, when I have fulfilled my promise to you, you will deliver me, whole and healthy, to Sir Hendrik, and shall leave us in peace for the length of your days.”

Silence fell.

Then, “I must seek to amend your terms. Will you hear me?”

As if Beatrice had a choice. She said only, “Aye.”

“I cannot release Sir Hendrik in case you have a change of heart. I will, however, allow him complete freedom with you in this space and attend to all of his needs, and yours. I cannot remove Markus and Elvan from you completely, as their service will be required in your research. However, both you and Sir Hendrik will be included in my protection. As to your third demand, once Calasmos is manifest, I will deliver both you and Sir Hendrik, whole and healthy, to the location of your choice, and leave you in peace for all time. With one caveat.”

Beatrice frowned. “And that is?”

“It is my belief that once you have uncovered the truth about the dark books and convened the ritual, you will not wish to leave me. If this is the case, I will, should you wish it at that time, deliver Sir Hendrik, whole and healthy, whither you choose.”

“I cannae accept,” Beatrice said. “Should I choose to remain with you, _regardless_ of my wishes at that time you will still free Sir Hendrik as I have requested.”

The tiniest smile flitted across the woman’s bloodless face and was gone. “Done. We are in agreement, then?”

“Aye.”

Without any verbal command from his master, Elvan slithered across the room and opened the inner cell. He lifted Hendrik in his great coils and carried him over to Beatrice’s bed, where he spoke healing into Hendrik’s body. He then rested the tip of his tail on Beatrice’s shoulder, healed all of her wounds, and withdrew.

“My servants will bring you everything you need,” the Dark Lady said, then preceded Markus out of the room. Beatrice did not look at him.


	27. Chapter 27

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, 1a.m. _

Serena

Earlier that evening, with all the brazen stares from countless lonely soldiers, Serena had wondered how she’d let Jade talk her into wearing the skin-tight black cat suit. Now, with enemy monsters not ten yards distant, she thanked Yggdrasil she’d trusted the Heliodorian princess’s suggestion. She adjusted the black scarf that covered her hair and most of her face, worried it might be tugged away on the evening breeze, exposing her pale visage.

Serena was a healer, not a thief—stealth was Erik’s department. But her heightened ability to sense the presence of evil made her a far better choice to accompany Sylvando on this reconnaissance mission than anyone else. For his part, the Valorian acrobat was adept both at moving silently and rendering himself nigh on invisible to anyone around him. Serena trusted him to lead the way along the perimeter of the monster army, following him from one area of cover to the next.

Together they stopped at intervals and observed the enemy, making mental notes of troop organization, monster types, behavior. In particular they were trying to discern how the army was supporting itself all this time—was there evidence of any sort of supply chain? Were groups moving off to forage? Or moving at all?

What _wasn’t_ moving was an enormous master moosifer, just visible in the firelight some 50 yards distant. It stood there like some horrific, winged statue while squads of anywhere from 20 to 50 monsters clustered around it, engaged in various activities: talking and laughing, sparring, eating, drinking, sleeping—a chaotic hive of oddly stationary motion.

Sylvando’s hand clamped down on Serena’s shoulder and she met his eyes in the near-dark. “Down,” he hissed, and they dropped into a cluster of heather. Serena peered up through the branches to see a dragooner slip silently through the air above them. As soon as it passed over, she extricated herself from the shrubbery and resumed her evaluation of the troops that spilled over the field between them and the walls of the castle.

A particularly rowdy group of skeleton soldiers and deadnauts gathered around one of the few tents to be seen in the enemy camp. She could sense from them—and from the tent in particular—a seething, roiling evil, one bent on producing the worst kind of chaos and darkness. That didn’t surprise her at all, but the aura weakened and dissipated not too far from the edge of their gathering. Next to them, around a pair of campfires, a squadron of knights errant stood or sat in various stages of polishing their swords and armor in near total darkness. She could hear the clanking of metal and the muted conversations, but she could not sense from them the presence of evil she would have expected. Was it simply because they were engaged in a mundane task rather than drinking and fighting as their nearest neighbors were?

All at once, one of the deadnauts came flying through the air toward her, and Serena dove to the ground, offering swift prayers for Yggdrasil’s protection. The monster landed with a crash not ten feet from where she lay huddled, Sylvando beside her. They froze, waiting in silence until the creature staggered back toward the fire accompanied by the clank of armor and a barrage of colorful swearing.

Serena began breathing again, and she and Sylvando moved on through the night.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, 3a.m. _

Indignus

It had been long journey from Gallopolis to the hills above Dundrasil, but Indignus had been willing to follow the promise of revenge. Revenge on his own people for casting him out. Weak, they had called him, a runt, some going so far as to rename him a loss _loser_. He had been baffled by their cruelty to him simply because he went out of his way to treat his foes with respect, expressed admiration for those who surpassed expectations, and learned everything he could from them, even if in the end he had to destroy them anyway.

Mordegon had promised him the dignity of a position of high honor, along with increased size and strength. The rest of loss leader society would have been forced to acknowledge him, then, and accept his inherent superiority to their base and cruel ways. But Mordegon had been defeated before he could follow through, and Indignus had taken refuge in the lands around Gallopolis, where every knight who went up against him exuded the kind of chivalrous honor he so prized. He learned so much from each of them before he killed them.

Now a mysterious new dark power had begun to weave its tendrils through the world. She had sought him out, fully aware of what the Lord of Shadows had failed to deliver, and offered him yet more. Not just size and strength and a position as gatekeeper, but actual rulership of one of the seven major centers of civilization. He had asked for the Gallopolis/Hotto region, of course, and she had agreed. Soon his insatiable desire for power and knowledge would be fulfilled.

But as an act of good faith, even before he would be called to the ritual that would bring about the unleashing of the Dark Lady’s true power, he had to destroy a thief. A thief, of all people. They with the least honor in battle, skulking away from conflict, trading in deceit and deflection to enhance their personal gain. He would have found no joy whatsoever in such a task, except that there were rumors about this thief. That he had been driven to such a life by the most honorable motivation imaginable: to save the life of someone he loved. And that in so doing, he had, in fact, distinguished himself in battle a thousand times over and been drawn into a circle of companions so entirely above reproach it had elevated him further by association.

Yes, Indignus imagined he would learn a great deal from this Erik before he snuffed out the insignificant human’s life.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, Morning _

Lars

A cold wind eddied through the pre-dawn grey and Lars pulled his cloak tighter. Beside him, Sesqui lay in a compact ball, quiet snores drifting upward from his long snout. Lars continued to be amazed at the professaurus’ ability to sleep soundly in all conditions. Rain, cold, wind, rocky ground, bizarre night noises—nothing fazed him and he woke each morning as alert and cheerful as if he’d spent the night in total comfort.

“I wish I could sleep like that,” Oskar said, crawling out of his bedroll, bleary-eyed and unkempt. He peered through the dimness at his young companion. “And you…did you sleep at all?”

Lars shrugged. “Some.”

“The same?” asked Oskar, sympathy flitting across his features. When the boy nodded, he said, “I am sorry.”

No matter how logical he was about it, Lars could not cease blaming himself for what had happened to Beatrice. And every night he was forced to relive the whole thing in his dreams. Her screaming, the sight of her draped over Markus’ shoulder, the feel of his sword flying from his hand, the sound of Markus’ hateful words _You have failed her this time,_ and then the pain of Markus’ booted foot slamming into his head jarring him back into consciousness.

Oskar had finally abandoned trying to convince him of his innocence or otherwise cheer him up, for which Lars was grateful, though it made for a somber traveling party. He knew Oskar was dealing with his own guilt, having been rendered just as useless by Elvan as Lars had by Markus. Only Sesqui had any sort of positive attitude about him, and he had the grace to keep it tamped down, supporting both of his companions simply by remaining entirely amenable to whatever they decided in any given moment.

“Coffee?” Oskar asked, poking at the coals and setting a kettle directly on them.

“Yes, please,” Lars answered. Awful stuff, but he would take anything that offered warmth and energy right now. He stood and crossed to where Coriander and Alabaster stood tethered. Pulling a coarse brush out of his saddle bag, he gave the horses a good-morning rub-down before leading them to graze just outside the edge of the campsite.

The smell of the steeping grounds roused Sesqui, who lifted his head, bright-eyed. “Mmm. That smells so good. Too bad it tastes so gross.” He walked out on his hands, stretching his back like a cat, his tail extending spear-straight behind him. “How much longer to Dundrasil?”

“If we pick up the pace a little, we could be there the morning after next,” Oskar said. “You up to it, Sesqui?”

The dragon nodded, enthusiastic. “Oh, yes. I could run if you’d like.”

The guardsman chuckled, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “I’m sure you could. But the horses wouldn’t be able to keep up that kind of pace for too long.”

“Ah, well. Not everyone has legs like a professaurus,” Sesqui said philosophically.

Lars frowned. He would give anything to have had Sesqui’s size and strength when it really mattered.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, Morning _

Hendrik

The smell of fresh bread, still warm from the oven, assaulted Hendrik’s stomach. Was this some new torture Markus had dreamed up? Because this might be what put him over the edge. He had to force his eyes to open, days of anguish having left him exhausted.

Beatrice sat at the table with her back to him. In one hand, she held a thick slab of bread that looked to have been slathered in butter and honey. Next to her sat a steaming mug of some fragrant tea, a basket of apples, and…did he smell bacon?

And come to think of it…where _was_ he? He glanced down to see a comfortable mattress, warm blankets, even a pillow. No straw, no rough stone…no bars. No pain either. Wait a minute. What did he last remember? He dragged a mental hand through the cobwebs in his mind, seeing an image of his battered, burned and bleeding body. Then Elvan had healed him again…and…no.

“Isabella,” he said, and all the grief at what he had done to her, what he _would have_ done to her, washed over him.

Beatrice jumped from her chair and rushed to him. “Oh, thank Yggdrasil you’re awake! Elvan healed your head wound but it’s been hours and I was afraid…I was so afraid he’d been too late.” She brushed her hand over his temple where Markus’ cruel bludgeon had knocked him senseless.

“What…what has happened?” he asked, awash in guilt and confusion. Beatrice’s face and neck were free of bruises, the gashes in her arms reduced to new scars among the old. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and saw that he was dressed in clean breeches and a loose-fitting linen shirt. “I…What?”

She took his hands, and he could see warring emotions in her expression. The fear that had become permanently etched above her brow over the past three days, a kind of defiant determination in the set of her jaw, and in her eyes something he had not believed he would ever see there again: hope.

At once Hendrik knew what she had done, and his own emotions went to war. “Please tell me it is not true,” he said.

“Hear me out,” she said, and he willed himself to listen, to be open and trusting of her. It took all of his effort. “I couldnae bear it anymore,” she said. “That man would never have killed you, only dreamed up more and more horrific ways to torture you. I didnae see an end to it save my own slow descent into madness, until I finally broke and gave her everything she wanted without reservation, without the mental strength to resist her power, her evil. You know that’s true.”

He did, but was not ready to give judgment one way or another, choosing instead to remain still, his hands in hers.

“This way I have my wits about me,” she continued, accepting his silence. “The only chance I have to defeat her is to solve this mystery. We both know it. And the only way I can solve it is to cooperate until the truth is made manifest.”

“And if it is not?” he asked, searching her eyes. “If you cannot find what you are not even certain is there…What then?”

She looked away from him. “I have…made arrangements with Isabella.”

Unease crept into Hendrik’s gut, and he reached out to caress her cheek and pull her gaze back to his. “What arrangements?”

“Poison,” she said, and he closed his eyes, drawing her close and touching his forehead to hers. He had to concede the wisdom of it, though it grieved him, and he knew right then that he would join her in what would, at that point, be their only escape.

But then images of Jasper’s slow descent into darkness rose up to haunt him. “And what if you cannot resist?” he asked, pulling back. “I have seen what happens to you when these books are read together, your complete loss of control. If your mind touches that manner, that… _depth_ of evil, how can you be certain you will not be seduced?”

She managed a wan smile. “Just yesterday you told me I was the strongest person you had ever known. I plan to hold you to that assessment, and pray Yggdrasil for the strength to resist.” Her smile faltered. “But…”

“But?”

“But if you’re wrong, then I will need to make arrangements with you, much as I have with Isabella.”

Tears began to threaten, and it was Hendrik’s turn to look away. Dear Yggdrasil, how had it come to this? How could he bear it if he was forced to end her life? Beatrice pulled him back, held him in her gaze. “ _You_ are the strongest person _I_ have ever known,” she said. “And you are the only one strong enough to do what I cannae do myself. Promise me, Hendrik. Promise me you’ll nae let me serve her.”

He nodded and the tears slipped down into his beard. “You have my word.”

Beatrice held his face, leaned in and kissed him tenderly on each eyelid, brushing away his tears with her thumbs. When she pulled away, her expression grew suddenly hard, the defiant determination returning. “Now,” she said, almost strident, “no more tears.” She gave Hendrik a light shove and got to her feet. “The fact remains (and I say this without a hint of pride) that I am the foremost scholar in all of Erdrea. That I am endowed with certain skills that clearly no other human being is known to possess (else we wouldnae _be_ in this shite hole). That I am the _only_ one who can solve the mystery of these dark books.”

She was right, Hendrik knew, and said as much.

“ _And_ as such,” she went on, pointing a finger in Hendrik’s face, “I will tell you in no uncertain terms that the answer lies in those books. That as much as the darkness clings to them, surrounds them, permeates them, there is light to be found there. And I, Beatrice of Dundrasil, will find it.”

She was grandstanding a bit, probably as much for her own benefit as for his, but he could not help but believe her. Not because she was particularly convincing, though certainly she was, but because…because it just felt like truth. And there, in the center of the dread and grief that had bound his heart for days, hope was rekindled.

“Dear _Yggdrasil_ ,” he groaned, “is that truly bacon?”

“Aye, and still warm.”

Hendrik had not eaten sufficiently in more than four days, and had to force himself to slow down several times, lest he make himself ill. While they breakfasted, Beatrice filled him in on the terms of her agreement with the Dark Lady. She indicated a second table that had been brought into the room upon which sat the seven dark books and a pile of soft, cloth gloves. Hendrik finally registered the other changes—several more lanterns, a full-sized and proper bed with warm blankets, thick carpets laid upon the stone floors, a pair of stuffed chairs, and a curtained-off area for the chamber pot, which he elected to use. Certainly it was no inn, but as prison cells went, one could have done far worse.

“Where did all of this come from?” he asked, washing his hands in the basin.

Beatrice laughed, and Hendrik’s heart skipped at the sound. He had not realized it, but a part of him had been so beaten down by Markus he hadn’t believed he would ever hear it again.

“You should have seen the utter rage that was coursing through Markus as he supervised the servants delivering furniture,” she said.

There was a soft rapping on the door and Hendrik started. “Did…did someone actually just knock to be let into a prison cell?”

“That wasnae part of the agreement,” Beatrice said, “but perhaps it’s just a sign of professional respect?” She turned toward the great wooden slab. “Come in,” she called.

The door swung inward and Isabella slipped in. “Are you done with your—” She caught sight of Hendrik and froze.

Hendrik took a breath, struggling for mastery of his guilt. He opened his mouth to speak, but before the first word even formed on his lips, the girl rushed to him and threw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I am so, so sorry.” Taking hold of her shoulders and gently pushing her away, he dropped to one knee and looked her in the eye.

“Why do you apologize? It was I who did you violence.”

“I know it wasn’t really you,” she said. “It was those terrible books.” Hendrik opened his mouth but she rushed on. “And you were right. I was foolish and careless and it was all my fault—”

“No!” Hendrik growled, and Isabella went silent, her sable eyes huge. “What happened to you was not your fault, Isabella. Markus is a truly depraved human being—honestly, I have begun to question whether he actually is human.” His jaw clenched. “No one under any circumstances deserves what he so casually metes out, but especially not a child.”

Isabella nodded slowly, her eyes growing red around the rims. “I am still sorry for what he did to you,” she said.

“And it grieves me no end what I did to you because of him.”

She hugged him again. “I forgive you.”

Hendrik returned the embrace, a smile drifting across his features. “Your grace overwhelms me,” he said. “Thank you.”

Pulling away from him, she smiled brightly and asked, “Did you get enough to eat? I’m allowed to bring you whatever you want, now.”

He patted his stomach. “Plenty,” he said.

“¡ _Bueno_!” She bustled around the room collecting baskets and utensils, gave Beatrice a huge smile, and kicked at the door to be let out, singing, “See you at lunch time!”

Beatrice frowned in the void left by her presence. “If it’s Yggdrasil’s will that we get out of here,” she said, “that child is coming with us.”

“Without a doubt,” Hendrik said.

“Now. To work.”


	28. Chapter 28

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, Afternoon _

Jade

Activity in the camp had dwindled to a lull as all but a few scouts took their midday meal. Jade daily marveled at how a company so large and bustling could grow almost silent as everyone chewed whatever repast was available. She herself was content to partake of the dried apple venison most commonly used as a travel ration in her father’s army, along with some wild carrot she had found growing at the edge of the forest. Veronica and Serena shared some cold pheasant while Sylvando was in the middle of preparing himself empanadas with a few simple ingredients, munching on them as they came out of the skillet. For Serena and Sylvando, this was actually breakfast, as they had both slept through the morning after their midnight mission.

“So here is what confuses me the most,” Sylvando said between bites. “We saw plenty of evidence of supply wagons, so I don’t know why whole battalions would be moving off to forage. And even if they were, how come we didn’t see any of that kind of movement last night?” He snatched his hand away from the pan over the fire and blew on it.

“Burn yourself?” asked Veronica. “I could cook those for you.” She snapped her fingers, sending little tongues of flame shooting skyward.

“Thank you, honey, but I prefer not to have my food incinerated.” He reached in again and pulled out another empanada with a quick flick of his fingers. “But are you understanding what I’m saying?”

Serena wiped her mouth on a napkin. “To be honest, I got the strangest feeling that this isn’t about moving troops at all.”

Jade frowned. “Say more.”

“Do you remember that rowdy deadnaut squadron we observed around midnight?” she asked Sylvando.

“Of course!” he said. “I thought we were going to be caught when that lunatic threw one of his companions in our direction.”

“Well I could feel the evil absolutely flowing out of them, the malicious drive to destroy Dundrasil. But right next to them, there was that group of knights errant…I didn’t feel anything from them.” She picked at her pheasant as if her inability to sense their evil was some sort of personal failure. Jade thought otherwise.

Swallowing a bite of her rations, the princess said, “Knights errant that aren’t evil? In that rabble? Impossible. Nor do I believe for a moment that your Yggdrasil-given ability to sense darkness would suddenly malfunction in the middle of the reconnaissance mission.” She stood and paced around the campfire. “How could they have concealed their true nature from you?” she wondered aloud. “I mean, they can cast fizzle…but you don’t use a spell to sense evil…Never mind that they would have had to know you were there if they’d deliberately misled you, and I don’t believe that either.” As she continued circling, she punched at the air, trying to focus her brain through her art.

Sylvando said, “Honey, you’re making me dizzy. And Serena still hasn’t explained what non-evil knights errant have to do with the fact that the troops aren’t actually moving.” That brought Jade to a stop and she turned her attention back to her dear priestess.

“Evil clings to creatures,” Serena said. “It’s more than just personality or choice—it’s as if it has a life of its own beyond the creature’s physical body.” She rubbed her chin. “So when evil creatures move en masse, there’s a sort of cloud that ebbs and flows around them. I would have thought if large groups of monsters—in the thousands, supposedly—were leaving the camp to forage, there would have a been a kind of trail to follow. But there wasn’t anything like that.” She stopped to take a sip of water.

“And?” Sylvando prompted.

“And,” she continued, “when I saw those knights errant with no aura, I wondered if maybe those groups were cloaking their evil somehow. But that doesn’t seem right.”

Veronica had been listening quietly, staring at the fire, as her sister spoke. Now she leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute,” she said slowly. “I don’t think those knights errant weren’t evil.”

“But then why couldn’t I sense it?”

The little fire wizard snapped her fingers. “Because I don’t think they were there _at all_.”

Understanding dawned and Serena’s eyes grew wide. “Sylvando, did you notice how many master moosifers were scattered through the edges of the camp as we circled it?” she asked.

“Those big ugly dragon-winged goat things?” Sylvando asked. “They did seem to be everywhere.”

A trumpet sounded from the watch tower and Jade strained her eyes to the west. New arrivals in the camp. “It’s Sniflheim’s banner!” she cried. “Hendrik is here!” At once, all four of them left their half-eaten lunches and sprinted toward the arriving troops. The princess reached the incoming soldiers first, and searched their modest ranks for the towering figure of her friend. She stopped short when she saw Obsidian—riderless—being led by another soldier on horseback.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but where is Sir Hendrik of Dundrasil?”

The young man flashed a grim expression, then slid from his saddle to land in front of the princess. “I am sorry to bring you bad news, Your Highness,” he said, “but Hendrik was taken en route.”

“What?!?” shouted Veronica from just behind Jade. “What the fuck are you talking about? Taken? Hendrik?” Her eyes snapped with a fury that failed to hide her anxiety.

Serena’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh dear!” she cried. “What happened?”

“Darlings,” commanded Sylvando, “give the poor man a moment to take a breath.” He put an encouraging hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Go ahead, honey, whenever you’re ready.”

“My name is Anders,” the soldier said. “I was riding as second to Hendrik when we left Sniflheim. In the middle of our second day out, we were ambushed by hell’s gatekeepers. We managed to rout them, but in the confusion of the battle, they called in Elysium birds and the last anyone saw was Hendrik, gravely injured, being borne off to the northeast into the mountains.”

Jade felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut. They _needed_ him here! But worse—who had taken him and why? Was he even still alive?

“We sent a runner ahead of us to Arboria, so that by the time we got to the foothills, the High Priest Benedictus was waiting for us there and healed all of our wounds from the beating we had taken. It was decided at that point to ride on to Dundrasil and lend whatever meager aid we might.” Anders’ expression exuded a potent combination of weariness and guilt, though clearly he was trying to fulfill the role of de facto leader. In spite of her dismay at his dire news, Jade’s heart went out to the man.

“Come,” she said, “take your ease, all of you. I will find you assistance among the men of Heliodor to set up your camp.” She reached up and brushed her hand down Obsidian’s nose. “And you, dear one,” she said to the horse, “where is your master?” She looked back at Anders. “I will take him with me,” she said. “We’re old friends, Obsidian and I.”

Anders bowed, then returned to the rest of his men and began issuing commands. Jade turned to her friends, unable to mask her dejection. “Meet me in my tent,” she said. “I’m going to go drum up some help for these poor soldiers.” She swung up onto Obsidian’s back and kicked him into a trot. _Dear Yggdrasil! What now?_ Why did she feel like she was missing something? Something terribly important?

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, Afternoon _

Beatrice

_Roil, vulgar virgins, raising rival origins in raving liars._

_No valor, vainglorious liaison; Savor no rivals. Soul—ours._

The book of lust no longer filled Beatrice with twisted desire, but just being in proximity to its six companion volumes caused it to whisper its sinister, beckoning rhythm into her mind, tangling itself among the threads of fear, hope, and urgency already strung there. Here the vainglorious liaison, pride personified, traipsed through the pages in a dance with the other bizarre presences named or alluded to in all these nonsensical texts. He was not, she was certain, the author—that other consciousness she knew to be lurking between the words, slinking just out of sight among the images he chose for her to see. Yet she also felt that the vainglorious liaison was somehow at the center of whatever ritual was to be performed.

_In vision, vainglorious liaison, our solar vigil is slain._

_Rising lunar sigil is our original savior, lain long in ruins._

In fact, she had become convinced that each volume, each character personifying one of the seven deadly sins was an actual person, and that those seven people were the ones to perform the ritual. The Dark Lady had told Beatrice to accept her place as “the convener of the seven,” so even though she obviously had no understanding of the books or how to access the ritual they contained, she knew that much. Which meant, at least in the mind of the Dark Lady, Beatrice was to bring the seven characters together somehow. Was it just in identifying the ritual?

The enraged angel, the ravenous raven, the indolent lion, the covetous countess, the avaricious vicar, the concupiscent poet, and the vainglorious liaison…Markus had her vote for the last one. Who else in all of Erdrea could lay claim to that much pride? Was he, as the center of the ritual, hoping to ascend to some higher darkness? Become second only to Calasmos? She did not doubt it for a moment.

Sighing, she returned to her reading. Four stanzas further along, she read,

_Limn yarn lain in an airy mural;_

_Aim, my Luminary, unarm a liar army._

“Hendrik!” she cried, and he rose from where he had been half-asleep on the bed.

“What is it?”

She pointed. “He is here again. But…” she squinted at the text, re-reading it, rolling it over in her mind. “Last time he appeared, the text spoke of ‘my liar,’ who would destroy the Luminary. This time, the text is addressing the Luminary directly. Why?”

Hendrik slipped on a pair of gloves and lifted the book, walking across the carpeted floor as he read. “Decipher a story depicted in a mural, perhaps in the air…the Watchers’ mural perhaps?” He looked back at her, his expression wondering. “There was a mural in Havens Above, full of imagery of Yggdragon, who became the World Tree, of Calasmos, and other strange creatures. Truthfully, I cannot recall it in detail.”

“Could there have been something in it to help the Luminary…unarm a liar army, whatever that means?” Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Perhaps the Dark Lady and her minions are the liar army…perhaps the Luminary is somehow key to undoing what these books were written to do.” She rubbed her temples. “Ach, it’s enough to make your head spin,” she said.

A knock at the door drew her out of her contemplation, and Hendrik said, “Enter.”

Isabella appeared bearing a large basket, which she set on the far table, safely away from the ancient texts laid out in front of Beatrice. “Is it midday already?” the scholar asked, standing and stretching her tired back.

“Yes,” came the cheerful reply. “I’ve brought meat pies and vegetables and mead.” Isabella laid out dishes and cups along with the steaming entrée, then turned to Hendrik, who had sat back down on the bed. “I also found some books for you to read,” she said. “I figured you’d be pretty bored while Beatrice studies.” She handed him a small stack of worn volumes. “There’s a room on the other side of the dungeon where they keep all the things that belonged to people who…you know…” She frowned. “Well, people who aren’t here anymore.”

Hendrik accepted the gift. “That is most thoughtful,” he said. “Truthfully, I have spent the past several hours mostly asleep. But there is only so much of that I can do. Thank you.” He set the books down on the bed and crossed to the table.

“Do you read, Isabella?” Beatrice asked, joining the others at the basket.

“Some,” she said, frowning. “My mother taught me a little, when she wasn’t too busy working. But she died when I was eight.”

“Ach, I’m so sorry, dear.”

Isabella shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time.”

“And what of your father?” Beatrice asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Did he nae read?”

“I think he does,” she replied. “He was a soldier so I didn’t see him much. Then when my mom died, he came back home, but he wasn’t really there.”

Beatrice pulled out a chair and sat. “What do you mean?”

“He was just really sad, I think, without her. He started drinking and just sort of…went away. I had to get work as a servant in the fields outside Puerto Valor so we could eat. That’s where I was when a group of slime knights raided the area and carried me and some of the other workers off. I don’t remember much after that until I woke up here.”

Dear Yggdrasil, why did there have to be so much pain in this world? Beatrice wanted to know more, to dig deeper, to delve into the _story_ , but she would not do anything to cause more sorrow to such a dear child. She asked only, “How old are you?” to which Isabella replied,

“Fourteen.”

“Quite a young woman,” Beatrice said, with a warm smile. “I dinnae suppose you can join us for lunch?”

“Oh, no. I’m not allowed. But I’ll be back in a little while to get the dishes.” She knocked on the door and was let out.

The thud of the heavy portal and the sound of the iron bolt slamming into place was a grim reminder that this was no inn, and Beatrice glanced down at the food offering with a heavy heart, her appetite gone.

Hendrik touched her arm. “You do not do anything by halves, do you?”

“How do you mean?” she asked, looking up into his aquamarine eyes and seeing the tenderness there.

“The way you live, the way you study, the way you commit to what you believe in, the way you care about Isabella…”

“Aye, I suppose.” She looked down again. “I’m a bit all-or-nothing since the fall, I’m afraid. After I lost Duncan I gave up on people and threw myself into everything else. But children like Lars and Isabella…I think they just remind me of my brothers and sister, and I cannae help but love them, and feel such sorrow for their pain.”

Hendrik pulled her into his lap and encircled her with his strong arms. She leaned into him, resting her head against his. “Come,” he said at length, “you need your strength. Eat while the food is hot.” She nodded into him, then resumed her chair.

While they ate, Beatrice reviewed her findings thus far, using Hendrik as a sounding board as she tried to work through what she knew. “Seven books. All meant to be read at the same time. But none with the same words except one phrase randomly located. Each meant to be read by a particular person, whether to be chosen by someone, like the Dark Lady, or predetermined I cannae be sure.” She had a brief flash of fear, remembering the way she had been kept from falling when she drew the last volume from the impossible-to-reach shelves above the inner sanctum—as though her participation in all of this had been preordained. She shoved it aside and continued. “Whoever reads the book of pride, the _vainglorious liaison_ , is somehow central, and directs the other six in some way. All of that information is indirectly revealed in the texts themselves, but there doesnae seem to be any indication of a specific way in which the books are to be read. There has to be some order, or some pattern, that ties everything together.”

Hendrik listened intently as Beatrice spoke, then asked, “And what have you gleaned from reading the books together?”

“Other than horrific headaches?” she asked with a grim smile. “Ach, no, I _have_ deduced some basic ideas, though they tend to be less concrete.” She closed her eyes and thought back, letting her mind drift, opening to memories of images. “The author of those books left an imprint of himself in their pages. I can sense him watching, even directing me to what he wants me to see.” Unease swept through her at the way that presence seemed to know her, and she gripped the edges of her chair. “He has shown me that the Royal Library itself is an important piece of this puzzle. I’m fairly convinced that’s where the books were written, and that somehow the building’s very construction is connected. I would lay odds that’s where the ritual needs to be performed.”

“That is quite a significant piece of information,” Hendrik said.

She opened her eyes, and picked up another forkful of meat pie. “Aye. I’ve also been shown that there is a specific key to unlock the books.” She popped the pastry into her mouth, pulled out the empty fork, and unlocked an imaginary door with it. “But the author, or whatever piece of him lurks in those volumes doesnae seem to know it.”

Hendrik served himself another piece of pie. “So what does that tell you?”

“That the key isnae in the texts at all. It’s somewhere else.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And that also tells me what I’ve long suspected.”

“And that is?”

“There’s a second key. One the author doesnae want me to know about. One that will reverse whatever evil the ritual was designed to unleash—perhaps to be used by the Luminary.” She tapped her fork on the table, then set it down. “Ach, but why?” she said. “Why would the author of these books include a way to counteract its very purpose? That’s what I cannae figure out.”

With a gentle hand, Hendrik lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “You will,” he said.

“I have no choice,” she answered, grim determination in her voice. “And that being said, I need to get back to that last book.”

Hendrik did not let her go before kissing her softly and deeply. She returned his kiss, lacing her fingers behind his neck. _Dear Yggdrasil_ she would have given anything to be anywhere else with him at that moment, but the reality of their predicament would not let her even imagine such. With a sigh, she released him and returned to her studies.


	29. Chapter 29

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, Late Afternoon _

Jade

Heat collected in Sir Aldrich’s tent under the late afternoon sun, so Vince and Sylvando secured the door flaps open while Jade and Anders took down one of the rear panels to allow a cross-breeze.

Don Mateo wiped sweat from his brow. “Explain it one more time, if you please,” he said to Serena.

Veronica interrupted, hands on her hips. “Oh, come on, it’s really quite simple. Master moosifers have the ability to cast illusions. Powerful ones. Since they’re stationed all over the enemy camp, we think they’re making it appear that there are a lot more monsters than there really are. They can’t hold on to their illusions indefinitely, which is what explains the bizarre fluctuations in our estimates of the enemy’s numbers. It also explains why they haven’t attacked us directly—it would give away the truth.”

The Valorian soldier looked down at the diminutive wizard. “Why is this child in here again?”

Sparks erupted from Veronica’s fingertips, and Jade swore more would come flying out of her eyes and level Don Mateo where he stood if the man wasn’t careful. “I am _not_ a fucking _child_ ,” Veronica snapped.

Sylvando stepped in between them, his bright smile diffusing the tension. “Okay, darlings, let’s be civil.” He turned to Sir Aldrich. “Come, let’s look at the map.”

Everyone gathered around the table in the center and Jade turned up the wick in the lantern, brightening the colored parchment. “Here,” Sylvando said, pointing, “is where Serena first noticed the inconsistencies between what we saw with our eyes and what she sensed with her gift. And in the center of that area there was a master moosifer just standing there, like a statue.” He brushed his finger along the edge of the eastern field, following the path he and Serena had taken. “We could see another master moosifer here, here, and here, about every two hundred yards or so, give or take.”

“Serena,” said Sir Aldrich, “do you have any idea of just how many of the enemy are…well…not actually there?”

The priestess put a finger to her lips and glanced upward, thinking. At length she said, “Honestly, we weren’t close enough for me to make any sort of accurate determination. The monsters are just too deep. But just along the perimeter, it could have been as many as a third or even more. And for every five dragooners that flew overhead, I would say two of them were illusions.” Her brow furrowed. “Or, at least, I couldn’t sense any evil from them.”

Jade saw her friend struggling to reconcile what she’d seen and felt with the dire reality of the situation. “What is it, Serena?” she asked.

Serena’s blue eyes clouded, her little bow of a mouth turned down in a worried frown. “I can’t be certain that my failure to sense evil automatically means those enemies aren’t actually there. I would hate for anyone to be hurt because we made battle plans based on that assumption.”

“Well we’ve got to do _something,_ ” Veronica said. “Otherwise El, Erik and Rab are all going to starve to death up in that castle while we’re just standing around down here!”

Don Mateo cleared his throat. “Perhaps,” he said, “the only way to determine what we are actually up against is to mount an attack and see who actually attacks back.”

“Dude,” said Vince, “I kinda like the sound of that.”

“Oh, no,” said Serena. “If we can’t disrupt the master moosifers’ spells, we won’t be able to tell what’s real and what’s not!”

Sylvando said, “In that case, our soldiers’ confusion would make them easy targets.”

“On the other hand,” said Sir Aldrich, “if the enemy can’t stray too far from the monsters creating the illusion, and the odds of the whole force engaging us is small, we could carry out a targeted campaign.” He indicated the place where Sylvando had pointed out the first moosifer on the map. “A smaller group of soldiers could concentrate an attack on the area surrounding a single master moosifer, drawing them southward away from the plateau, while an elite force took on the moosifer itself. Once it went down, we would be able to estimate its area and scope of effect.”

Elite force. Music to Jade’s ears. Enough of this inaction! “I think it could work,” she said. “And I volunteer the four of us to be your elite force.” She put her arms around Serena, Veronica and Sylvando.

“Fuck yeah!” shouted Veronica. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Sylvando executed a flamboyant dance move. “Time to shine, darlings!”

“Well I suppose I shall have to lend my aid as well, then,” Serena said.

Jade grinned. She loved these guys so damn much!

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 12, Late Afternoon _

Beatrice

Fatigue settled across Beatrice’s shoulders, surely exacerbated by the still-lingering effects of the past several days of pure hell. She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing herself to finish the last few stanzas of the book of lust. As short as these books were, it took a long time for her to get through them. The words on the page were only the beginning of what they had to tell her, and she read and re-read every sentence, sometimes in clusters, as if some kind of paragraph structure could possibly be gleaned, order of _any_ kind.

She had found the bloodletting couplet only a short while ago, within three pages from the end, and she had gone back over the other six volumes once more, trying to determine any sort of connection between where the phrase was located in each. She could discern none. Now, all she wanted to do was get through the final couplets and call it a day.

_Sing, vainglorious liaison, visional vigor align;_

_Solving our singular grail, so gain glorious air._

Humph, Beatrice thought. Markus wasn’t capable of solving anything of the sort. Sure, he would expect to “gain” a “glorious air” but it was she who was doing all the work, she who had the “visional vigor.” She rolled her eyes. Now she was probably reading meaning into things that had no meaning whatsoever.

_Snag valorous lion, in irons ail, loosing groans;_

_Soiling virgin girl in inglorious ruin._

She stopped, stomach dropping. Dear Yggdrasil. She read it again. And again. How could this be? Hendrik? The valorous lion in irons? No. This book was easily a thousand years old. But Isabella…a virgin girl whose inglorious ruin quite nearly happened yesterday, right along with Hendrik’s. Beatrice’s hands began to tremble. Was it just exhaustion? She had read hundreds of these nonsensical couplets and even when they had hinted at meaning, it had been vague and general, or so it had seemed. Yet this string about the vainglorious liaison…

_Sing as violin or viola, arousing loins in rivaling lair;_

_Our liar lags, losing gains, so rails in raving snarl._

_Run, vainglorious liaison, or sour in slaving sin;_

_Run along origin arising, or salving soul is nil._

_Recite! Create! Abet tribe eater, ere ice tear, bite, berate;_

_Bar care, brace baiter at bare aerie; trice Beatrice. Act!_

With a cry, she threw the book across the table, jumping to her feet and knocking the chair down behind her.

Hendrik swept out of his reading chair and reached her in a single stride. “What is it?”

Beatrice’s heart hammered, her hands shook, nausea rose in her chest. “That book…that evil book…It has just called me by name.”

“Explain,” he said, taking her hand. “Dear Yggdrasil! You are trembling.”

She clung to him and he wrapped her in his great arms. “I dinnae understand it, but whoever wrote these books…he knew I would be the one to unlock their secrets, even a thousand years before I was born. I dinnae know how.” Tears welled and began to fall. She did not want to give voice to what she now knew. Did not want to speak it into reality.

“What does it mean?” Hendrik asked.

“It cannae be true,” she wailed, sobs convulsing her. “I dinnae want it to be true.”

He held her more tightly, as if trying to keep her from physically falling to pieces. “I am here,” he said, his voice soft and calm. “Whatever it is, we will face it together.”

She nodded into his chest, at last gaining control of herself. He held her at arms’ length, searching her eyes, his expression open. “Hendrik…” she began, tears still tracking down her cheeks, “ _I_ am the vainglorious liaison.”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 13, Morning _

Jade

Crimson light spilled over the eastern hills, announcing the new day. Jade clenched and unclenched her fists, her body taut, anxious for the command to advance. Beside her, Sylvando stretched up and down in little pliés, humming to himself. Veronica called forth tiny flames from the tips of each finger and blew them out, one after another. Serena stood absolutely motionless, eyes closed, deep in prayer. It had been months since the four of them had fought side by side, and while Jade would not, for any reason, wish the return of darkness to Erdrea, she could not deny the powerful allure of being united with them in combat against a common enemy.

The little elite force held their place in the center of the battalion, preceded by 200 archers and 50 foot soldiers, flanked by another 100 foot soldiers, and followed after by 100 mounted swordsmen. The strategy was simple: draw the enemy around the master moosifer out with ranged weapons and engage them while the foremost foot soldiers fought to open a path for Jade and her friends to reach the moosifer, then defend them from any incoming hostiles while they took the massive demon out. If at any point additional enemy troops swooped in to lend support, which would disprove Veronica’s theory, Sir Aldrich would sound the retreat, and they would all get the hell out under cover fire from the archers. Everyone present was well aware that should they be wrong about the illusionary enemies, this could go catastrophically south. All stood willingly on the field.

Three trumpet blasts, short, sharp, then one, long note, and Sir Aldrich shouted, “FOR DUNDRASIL!” and the battalion surged forward as one body with a mighty cry. The archers stopped mid-field and began firing into the enemy ranks, drawing outraged and pain-filled shrieks from the rabble of monsters scrambling to fall into some semblance of order. From that moment on, chaos reigned, and Jade kept her focus on her objective, trusting the soldiers around her to do their part. She stayed beneath the line of shields being held aloft for her benefit, unflustered by the sound of arrows thudding into them.

Clashing swords, shouted spells, painful cries, running feet, and the occasional explosion of magic merged into a cacophonous roar. Layer by layer, soldiers peeled away and crashed into incoming monsters, pushing them to the sides ahead of Jade and the others, driving a wedge into the seething mass of evil between them and the towering demon just now visible above the melee. It loomed a dozen feet tall, coal-black skin and crimson wings, stark white hair and beard and enormous, golden horns with deadly points.

As they approached, the monster horde grew more dense—the enemy must have realized their objective and gathered to defend the caster of illusions. “They’re trying to keep us from the moosifer,” Veronica yelled. “I fucking _knew_ I was right!”

“Get us in there,” Jade shouted, and the foot soldiers in front of them raised a shout and surged outward, launching themselves at grublins and hoods, beating back orcs and knights errant, slashing through rottontails and deadnauts. A drackolyte came tumbling through the air toward her and Jade leapt up, spinning and kicking outward. A thrill ran through her as her foot connected, sending the long-tailed creature sailing. From beside her, she heard Serena shout, “Kaswooshle!” and half a dozen enemies were literally blown out of their way. Sylvando found an opening between Heliodor’s troops and executed a pink pirouette, launching a cluster of raven lunatics over the heads of a pair of jargons. While the jargons looked up to follow the spastic flight path of the sinister birds, Veronica brought her arms down with an exuberant, “WOO HOO!” and a massive, magical explosion sent them flying after the ravens.

The path now lay open. As the battle raged all around them, Jade, Sylvando, Veronica and Serena confronted their objective, the towering demon-satyr who stood motionless, eyes closed in deep concentration. Without hesitation, Jade launched into a powerful twisting flip, slamming into the moosifer with seven massive kicks in quick succession. No sooner had she landed then Sylvando slashed outward twice with his über falcon blade, drawing black blood and a howl of rage from the hulking creature. It relinquished all concentration on its dazzle ability and turned the full force of its fury on the four friends.

Veronica didn’t give it a chance to strike first. With a shout of “KAFRIZZLE!” she launched a massive fireball at the creature. It roared, dropping to all fours and barreling forward, slamming its enormous horns into the tiny wizard. Veronica went flying, crashing into the back of a Heliodorian soldier and knocking him to the ground.

“Veronica!” Serena held up a graceful hand, a simple, silent prayer sending healing magic into her sister’s body.

“Thanks,” Veronica called. “I’m going to fucking _kill_ that son of a bitch!”

El

“D’ye hear that, Lad?” Rab got to his feet and held a hand to his ear.

A thrill of hope ran through El. “Explosions. Something’s happening on the field.” He bolted from the courtyard, taking the stairs toward the top of the wall two at a time. His nimble grandfather easily kept up and the two men reached the battlements in short order, only slightly out of breath. A dozen Drasilian archers stood along the rampart, peering off to the east.

El trotted along the stone pathway and leaned through an embrasure, heedless of the monsters directly below the wall, his eyes trained onto the distant field. On the southern edge of the monster horde, a battle raged. Heliodor’s banners waved above the chaos. Heliodor! El could have wept with relief.

“What’s that, now?” asked Rab at his shoulder. “Some trick of the light?” El followed the old king’s pointing finger and frowned.

“That is odd,” he said. “It looks like some kind of fog or something.” To the southeast, beyond the area of the conflict below, he could see more troops in the distance, what looked like a sizeable force. He could just make out the standard of Puerto Valor fluttering in the wind. But as his eyes swept northward from the skirmish, the distant soldiers appeared to simply fade away, as if they were being absorbed into the enemy army.

Rab put a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “Lad,” he said, turning the younger man toward him, “I think we’ve been played for suckers.” The crown prince frowned, still not sure what he had just seen. “Some creature or creatures down there are casting powerful illusions to make it seem like we’ve been completely cut off here, and it isnae true!”

Realization dawned and El’s heart sang. “They’ve been there all along. Erik was right!”

“Well, you know, that boy’s got good instincts.”

“We need to do something!”

The lord regent smiled. “Aye, I know you’re going mad being stuck in here. But we cannae be daft, Lad. We’re pinned down, and no mistake. Trust Yggdrasil that when it’s time for us to act, we’ll know it.”

El hated the idea, but he knew Rab was right. He clenched a fist. “Hm!” he said, nodding.

Serena

“Wake up, Honey,” Sylvando said, slapping Veronica across the face. _Oh dear_ , thought Serena, _she’s going to be so angry when she…_

The wizard snapped back into consciousness. “Grrrr! That fucking bastard!”

Jade lay slumped on the ground and Sylvando moved on to rouse her from the monster’s spell while Veronica rejoined her sister in the battle.

With a cry, Serena thrust her sacred spear forward, impaling the master moosifer just above the hip. In response, the burly creature belched out a stream of hellfire, knocking her and her sister back. Agony ripped through her as skin blistered and clothing burned. She rolled to the ground putting out the flames, and saw Veronica follow suit. Jade leapt over them both, pummeling the beast in the face with her feet while he was still following through with his fire breath. Sylvando whipped out his recorder and danced healing into the twins’ bodies.

“Fire is _my_ thing, you arsehole!” Veronica screamed, launching another fireball into their adversary. At long last, the great demon bellowed its death cry and crashed to the ground before dissolving in a cloud of putrid smoke. Relief suffused Serena’s body along with her own healing magic.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” cried Sylvando.

Freed from their primary task, the four friends turned to join the rest of the soldiers in the battle. But it was clear that the Heliodorian troops had things well in hand. Most of the remaining monsters in the area were fleeing toward places where the horde remained dense, and where it was no longer clear which monsters were real and which were illusory.

“Fall back!” shouted Sir Aldrich and a mass withdrawal began.

Serena couldn’t bear to pass any soldier in need of healing, and stopped several times to assist wounded men. Sylvando, too, lent his hustle dance to those limping back toward the camp, while Jade carried an unconscious man over each shoulder. Poor Veronica could do little more than follow along, but her exultant chattering about the master moosifer’s demise raised the morale of even the most seriously injured. While she had no love of battle, Serena thanked Yggdrasil for these beautiful companions who shared her call to bring light into the world.


	30. Chapter 30

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 13, Morning _

Hendrik

Hendrik had begun to mark time by the visits of Isabella to the cold dungeon cell. She had already been that morning with breakfast, but he had held his finger to his lips from where he lay on the bed, his arm draped protectively over the sleeping Beatrice. Isabella had left the basket and slipped back out.

How long since? An hour, maybe. Or two. He would not dream of waking Beatrice—she needed whatever rest her body and mind would allow her. Five straight days of violence and terror would have rendered most people witless or insane. Hendrik marveled at her fortitude, but knew they were both in an extremely precarious situation, no matter how many loaves of fresh baked bread Isabella delivered to them.

Beatrice twitched in her sleep and murmured something incoherent. With a soft groan, she pushed against Hendrik and rolled onto her back, eyes clenched. “No,” she said. “I’llnae…” Her breathing quickened and she swatted the air with a half-open fist. “Bolt, ye walloper…”

Hendrik laid a hand on her shoulder to try to wake her, but the moment he touched her, she let loose a strangled cry and lashed out with hands and feet, her sleeping limbs feebly battering against him. “Get tae fuck, arsepiece! Dinnae touch me!”

“Beatrice,” he said, shaking her. “Wake up.”

“Let go of me!” she shrieked, and rolled away from him, becoming tangled in the blankets. She thrashed, straining against the constricting linens, until the whole of her pitched over the side onto the floor. Hendrik leapt over her and knelt beside her on the carpet. She had curled into a tight ball and gone still save for the shaking caused by the sobs now coursing through her, and he did not know if he should try to comfort her or if touching her would just cause her more distress. At a loss, he sat back on his heels, awash in his own helplessness.

Finally, he lay down on the rug face to face with her, holding his body just slightly away, and said softly, “My Beatrice.”

Asleep, she murmured, “Ach, Hendrik, what have I done to you?” and her sobs deepened, constricting her throat.

“Nothing,” he said, feeling his own eyes grow hot and glassy. “You have done nothing to cause me any pain. You must believe me.”

“I’ve killed us both,” she said, a choked whisper. “We are lost.”

Her heartbreaking sobs settled into a soft, steady crying, and he reached out to her again, his own need to hold her overcoming his trepidation. This time she did not recoil, but leaned into him, brushing his face with the back of a heavy hand. He crushed her to him, as if she was all that kept him anchored to life, letting his tears fall into her hair. At last, she grew still and silent, her breathing deep and even.

Not a few moments later, he felt her stir in his arms. “Hendrik?” She pushed herself partway up and looked around. “Why are we on the floor?”

“You had a nightmare,” he said, relinquishing her and brushing a hand across his eyes.

The lantern light reflected off the tracks of her tears. “Ach, aye. And a dreadful one.”

“I am not surprised, in the circumstances.”

“What time is it?” she asked. “Has Isabella been?”

Hendrik sat up. “Some time ago,” he said. “There is food on the table.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I’mnae hungry. I just need her to tell the Dark Lady I’ll need seven volunteers to read those damned books. It’s time to have done with this.”

Beatrice

They stood in a circle. Four guardsmen called Caden, Giorno, Beckett, and Okuyasu; a woman called Lily; Elvan, and Markus. Beatrice handed them each a pair of cloth gloves with the exception of the sherpent, who lacked the necessary appendages. He offered to bite Hendrik in order to accommodate her, and she punched him in the eye.

“OW!”

Markus’ gloves she tossed at him, refusing to even risk physical contact. He smiled in response, arrogance rising from him like steam off a swamp, and she forced down the urge to vomit, willing her hands to stop trembling.

Without preamble, Beatrice said, “You will all do exactly as I say. Be warned that the text you read will elicit strong feelings in you. At no time will you leave the spot in which you are standing now. Do your best to ignore whatever urges you experience and keep reading. Slowly and clearly. Do you understand?”

Markus opened his mouth to say something and she rounded on him. “ _You_ will not speak unless it is to read that text,” she spat. A flicker of irritation darkened his brow, but obviously the Dark Lady’s grip on his balls was so tight he dared not cross Beatrice in the slightest—he said nothing.

She took her place at Hendrik’s side in the center of the circle. Just as with Beatrice, once Hendrik had overcome the hold the book of lust had on him, all of the texts had lost their ability to affect him when read aloud. He would not need Krystalinda’s deafening putty, and would therefore be fully alert to what was happening. It was small comfort—either way there was little he could do to help her—but she felt better knowing he would be able to keep tabs on Markus and Elvan. As it was, she had given Markus the book of sloth and Elvan the book of gluttony in an effort to keep them docile. Lily would be reading lust—it seemed the safest option.

With a deep breath, Beatrice closed her eyes and said, “Begin.”

They read hesitantly at first, struggling with the subtle differences in some of the letters that Beatrice had given them a quick primer on. She sensed fear from a few of them as the books’ dark powers grabbed hold of their emotions and twisted. Even so, the interweaving of words from all seven texts carried far more potency than when only six had been read in concert. Each spoken line spun outward from the text and wrapped around Beatrice’s mind, interlacing feeling and image into an intricate lattice.

Amidst a rush of whispering wing beats, arrhythmic pulsing, and flickering impressions of ancient monks and written glyphs, the library map spread itself beneath her feet in its spare outline. A moment later, it began to rotate, walls rising three-dimensional and vividly colored from the flat ground. She ascended and spun as the building constructed itself under her, leaving her perched atop the inner sanctum, eyes drawn upward to the great skylight knitting itself together overhead. Framed in the window, a new moon gazed down, its almost invisible corona the only indication of its dark presence.

The chanting reverberated through the space, echoing from around and below, reflecting off marble floors and wooden shelves to coalesce into a vortex of shadowy images circling her. She saw again the books’ bizarre cast of characters, but no longer simply as their names suggested—a lion, a poet, a raven. Instead, vastly different pictures formed in sharp relief—a skeletal warrior wielding twin swords, a green-skinned giant with a massive swallowtail blade, an animated doll in a sumptuous violet and crimson gown. Yet she knew them to be the enraged angel, the avaricious vicar, and the covetous countess, and she knew they were the creatures who would assume these roles _now_ , though they had been described a thousand years before.

As she watched, one by one they careened out of the whirlwind to surround her, standing along the edge of the platform, the two truly colossal creatures—the giant and a massive coralotl—in man-sized miniature. The voices of the Dark Lady’s servants issued from them with the exception of one. Giorno’s reading of the book of pride seemed to bounce crazily from the walls, and the words manifested as dark, birdlike forms, blurry entities that swooped through the air before diving at Beatrice, crashing into her with sharp talons tearing. _This is thy destiny. Accept it._

She would not, and raised an arm against them, warding them off. A flash of light erupted from the back of her hand, and the creatures screamed and wheeled away. An after-image burned into her vision, a symbol that struck her as familiar and filled her with hope. Yet the hope faded with the visual echo and the shrieking creatures circled back, whipping around her at a frantic pace. They lost their separate forms and became a snaking shadow that coiled around her like a serpent, clutching at her, demanding she comply. As evil constricted her movement and her ability to think, a new emotion asserted itself.

Pride. The vainglorious liaison. That’s who belonged at the center of this ritual, and no one else.

No one else? Why had that phrase come to mind? The flash of light, the after-image—someone else could stand in her stead. Someone else _must_ stand in her stead.

_There is none else. Only thou. Beatrice._

Ice shot through her. “How? How can you have known?” Questions of time and reality wove into the chaos and suddenly the little long-armed creatures covered nearly every surface in the library.

 _It is thy destiny._ _Thy power. Thy gift._

Her gift—the purpose of her intellect, her ability to enter the text. Had it all been for this?

_From the beginning of time._

No. She did not believe in predetermination, would not believe she had no choice.

_There is choice. But why wouldst thou choose else? Thou art a superior being._

The choice was hers. The control was hers. The power, the gift—it was all for this.

_Thou shalt know all._

The choice was hers. The control was hers.

 _Take the book_.

Image, sound, emotion continued to whirl around her, to fill her ears, blind her eyes, batter her spirit. Chaos escalated into thunder and the pounding wind of a massive storm. A storm that raged in her own head. Choice. Control. Knowledge. Pride. She did not want to give in, railed against the seductive words. But wasn’t knowledge what she was after? She had to know the truth. This might be the only way to find out.

Without opening her eyes, without stepping outside of the chaotic vision, she held out a hand to Giorno. “Give me your book.”

The moment it made contact with her bare hand, a massive surge of power cascaded up her arm and through her body. She threw her head back and cried out in joyful release. At once, the thrashing and whirling around her ceased and the vision of the library crystalized into heightened clarity. All that remained was the sound of the words being chanted, weaving themselves through her, inviting her to lend the missing voice, the most important voice. Her voice.

She did not need to see the book—its words were now imprinted in her mind. She took up the chant exactly where Giorno had left off, and when the words left her tongue and came into being in the air, her body morphed, assuming a new form. She rose on dark wings, balanced by a long, serpentine tail snaking behind her. Sharp black horns protruded from her head and shoulders, and from the fur that covered her forearms and legs. Suffused with power and immeasurable assuredness, she reached up with taloned fingers and swung her hand in a tight circle above her head.

The six creatures surrounding her lifted off the platform and scattered to different parts of the library. She could just see them from where she hovered below the circular window, and there was something familiar about the way they had aligned themselves—yes, they each stood in the place where their volume had been found. Until the library rotated into a new position, and everyone shifted. The locations remained fixed, but the players had traded places. Another rotation, another shift. The only one who did not move was Beatrice herself.

Understanding dawned—and why not? She was, after all, the only one who could possibly have discerned the truth: the ritual was a puzzle box like the library, which had been constructed for its enactment. Seven locations, seven books, and nearly 500 couplets in each, any of which could be the starting point for that particular reader. All she needed now was the key to determine the correct combination.

_The Dark Lady knows._

Beatrice turned in the air and alighted onto the top of the inner sanctum, where a man in long green robes stood, his hand around a tall, crooked staff inlaid with a red orb the size of his head. Not an actual man, but a faded image, as if a tapestry had been left too long in the sun. Pale blue eyes stared out from beneath heavy brows in a sharp-featured face, his hooked nose perched above a luxurious moustache. Hair the color of dulled sapphires hung past his shoulders beneath a steeply peaked hat adorned with another red stone.

Beatrice stopped chanting, lost all awareness of everything save this new presence, who was yet not new to her. “You are the author,” she said.

_I am merely his fingerprint._

Of course, it was as she had thought. Fine then. She would have answers from him. “If the Dark Lady knows the key, why am I even needed in this?”

_She does not know she has it. For a thousand years she lay dormant, when the Dark One lived sundered, awaiting such time as he wouldst regain his true form. He wakened her then, only to be destroyed himself. She knew only that I had committed in writing the secret of his reincarnation, and that hers was to choose the seven vessels of power._

“She chose me?”

A sardonic grin raised the sides of the man’s moustache. _She chose another. Calasmos chose thee._ _That is why I left my fingerprint in the text. For thy sake._

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you not think I could wrest the secrets from your works on my own?”

_Thy gift was never in doubt, but thy motivation._

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “This is my true form. As you yourself said, why would I choose else?”

_Calasmos would be certain. You have not ascended yet._

Beatrice stretched her wings, reveling in the feel of them. “They are not mine?”

_A part of you still does not want them._

Somewhere in the center of her being, something stirred. She had to remember…No. This was all. She strutted around the man’s image, running her hands over the wolf-like fur on her body, feeling the power in her limbs. “Make me want them,” she challenged.

_All of Dundrasil is thine. All of Zwaardsrust. To rebuild and to rule as thou wilt, once Calasmos rises. With Sir Hendrik as thy consort, shouldst thou wish it._

Yes. She would regain everything she had lost and more. Hers for the taking—“No. Hendrik goes free. The Dark Lady gave her word.”

_Her word pales before Calasmos. Her power pales before Calasmos. You shall serve him, not her. Complete the ritual and thou shalt have such power as thou canst possibly imagine. No more grief. No more loss. Everything fulfilled always._

Beatrice breathed in, filling her lungs with his heady promises. A chuckle escaped with her exhale, a self-satisfied laugh at all who would prevent her from choosing this form forever, from owning this power.

Before her the image of the wizard distorted for a split second, then faded even further, until he was almost colorless and out of focus. His expression shifted from arrogant to imploring.

_Beatrice. Do not listen to him. ‘Tis falsehood all. Thou knowest why. Find the true key!_

Wait. What? This…this was somehow…someone else. How?

The distortion repeated, and the image clarified, color returning. The wizard scowled.

_Do not fight this._

That stirring again. In the middle of her chest. This was…wrong. This was not who she was. Not what she wanted. _Tis falsehood all. Thou knowest why._ She looked down at her monstrous form, the lavender skin, ragged wings, cruel spikes. No. Confusion, terror, and rage kicked her in the gut.

 _Do not fight this_.

“No!” she cried. “There is another way. You have said so!” She lashed with her own claws at the fur on her body, as if to tear it away from her skin.

He raised his arms, the red orb in his staff gathering shadows. _Do not fight this. It is thy only destiny._ The howling wind and strident voices resumed, streams of chanted couplets lashing out like braided whips to grasp at her arms, her legs.

“No! I will not serve the Dark One!” Blood gushed from the self-inflicted wounds. She twisted to attack her wings, shredding the leathery membranes and screaming in pain.

_Thou shalt serve him. Make no mistake!_

Ropes of ancient glyphs seized her wrists, prying them apart, preventing her frenzied struggle to divest herself of her aberrant figure. The shadowy, birdlike forms whirled around her, images of the six other vessels flickered between them, reaching for her with murderous leers on their faces. She writhed and howled, the thunderous cacophony tearing at her mind.

Someone yelled “STOP!” and Beatrice collapsed into oblivion.


	31. Chapter 31

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 13, Afternoon _

Hendrik

A thick layer of blankets had been secured around a section of the inner cell’s iron bars, and Hendrik pummeled it, leaning into the intense satisfaction of each connection, the power anchored in his hips that followed through his arms to his fists. He had not trained in days, had been physically abused to the point of death, was entirely dissociated from his own body. In his thirty-eight years, he had never experienced this level of physical, emotional, and spiritual agony—not even when Zwaardsrust fell. His very being had been ground raw and only this explosive physical outpouring gave him any solace.

Beatrice lay on the bed, still senseless following the morning’s choral reading of those damnable books. He had watched her walk into that dangerous territory alone, had seen her mental struggle in the way she held her body, had wanted at every passing moment to make it stop, preferably by knocking Markus across the room. Then she had taken the book from Giorno and he had sensed her emotional release, the shift from struggle to acceptance, and a moment later…

He punched harder into the padded iron, letting loose a growl.

They had all seen it, even as they read. He could tell by the faltering in their delivery, the wide eyes. An aura had surrounded her, a shadowy, purple light, and as he watched, the aura morphed into a kind of shell around her—wings, a tail, sharp horns, furred limbs. He had seen it before. In his nightmares of a future that had never come to be yet was still somehow in his past. And again as a dark shadow on the balcony at Heliodor. _Jasper._

He cried out his grief-fueled rage with another mighty blow to the bars.

Then she had started screaming, lashing out, tearing at her own body with her fingernails, drawing blood. He could no longer stand it, had grabbed her arms to keep her from hurting herself, had shouted at them to stop. She had not moved since.

“WHY?!?” he roared, pounding at the blanketed iron with all of his helplessness, all of his fury, all of his despair.

Behind him, Beatrice groaned, and he sagged against the barrier, heaving and sweating with his exertion, relief and dread coursing through him in equal measure. He shrugged into his shirt and groped for the pitcher Isabella had left him. Gulping down cool water, he padded over the area rugs to the side of the bed and sank down next to Beatrice.

With a gentle hand, he brushed her curls away from her pale face, then stroked her brow with his thumb. She stirred under his touch and covered his hand with hers. Long moments passed before she finally spoke. “Is there water?” Hendrik lifted her, cradling her in one arm and holding the pitcher to her lips. She took hold of it and drank deeply before pushing it away. “Thank you,” she said.

“Are you in pain?” he asked. He could see plainly that she was, but would let her speak for herself.

“Aye. My head, as usual. The water helped.” She slid her arm behind him and leaned into his chest. He returned the embrace, resting his chin on her head, focusing on the sound of her breathing to keep him from his overwrought emotions. He lapsed into a meditative state, unaware of the passing of time, until she finally pulled away. “Is there anything to eat?”

Hendrik retrieved the basket from the table closest to the door and set it on the bed between them. She rummaged through it and drew out a chunk of bread and a cruet of honey, slathering the latter onto the former before taking a tentative bite. “Ach, I’m famished,” she mumbled around it, then proceeded to devour the entire piece in short order, washing it down with more water. At last, she heaved a great sigh and met Hendrik’s eyes.

“I understand now,” she said, “how the ritual works. All I need is the key to get everyone into their exact position and tell them where to begin reading aloud. It all has to happen at the library on the new moon, and when all is done properly, Calasmos will come into being on the pinnacle.”

Defiance swept through Hendrik and he clenched his jaw. “How can we stop it?” he asked.

“There is no ‘we,’” she said. “The only one who can completely undo the ritual is the Luminary—I saw his symbol in a flash of light. He must stand in the place of the vainglorious liaison, and he and six others must read from the books in a different order, using a different key.”

Hendrik stood and paced. “How?” he demanded to no one in particular. “How can we get word to El?” Never had he so keenly felt his powerlessness.

“Even if we could reach him, we dinnae have the key. Never mind that he disnae have the books.” Beatrice caught hold of Hendrik’s hand as he passed and stopped his purposeless striding.

He took her other hand and looked down at her, his expression hard. “So what do we do now?”

“The author said the Dark Lady knows the key to the dark ritual. I will get it from her, and hope that it in turn gives me a clue as to the other key.”

“She will know you have solved the riddle,” he said, his chest tightening. “She will insist upon carrying out the ritual at the next new moon.” He clenched his hands, squeezing hers. “ _Yggdrasil_ ,” he swore, “we don’t even know what day it is in here!”

Beatrice pulled him down next to her. “I will not serve her,” she said. “If it comes to it, there is my arrangement with Isabella. Without me, there can be no ritual. Calasmos himself chose me a thousand years ago. How, I dinnae understand. But the author swears it is true.”

The thought of her willfully poisoning herself turned Hendrik’s stomach. He thought nothing of his own death—he would do whatever it took to protect Erdrea. But hers… “I saw you change,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I saw…I felt you almost give in.”

“You saw that…that beastly creature I became?” A grim smile tugged at her lips. “Aye, such power that was. And all knowledge.” She lifted his chin. “He promised me Dundrasil,” she said. “And Zwaardsrust. With you as my consort, should it be my whim.”

Hendrik frowned, a deep furrow between his brows. “I would not seek to rule—”

“Of course not. Nor would I. I made the Dark Lady swear that if, after the ritual was complete, I chose to continue to serve her, she would deliver you whole and healthy to Heliodor, regardless of my _whim_ at the time.” She shook her head, the weight of her responsibility, the dread of her own weakness suddenly visible in the lines of her forehead, the droop of her shoulders. “I’ll nae own you. I’d rather you killed me by your own hand.”

He could not bear the thought and so shoved it aside. “So what now?” he repeated.

Beatrice said, “I ask the Dark Lady for the key, and stall as long as I can in the hopes that I can find the Luminary’s key.”

“What then, if you do? How can we get word to—” He stopped, realization dawning. “Isabella.”

“Aye,” she said, sorrow in her eyes. “Like as not it will mean her death. But I cannae see another option. Even so, I will have to stall as long as I can, to give her time to reach him.”

“And if she fails, and you can stall no longer? She will not be able to bring you the means of your escape.” He knew her response, and braced for it.

“You, then, will become the only one who can save Erdrea,” she said, staring into his eyes with all the stillness of a mountain pond at dawn.

_Dear Yggdrasil. Please._

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 13, Afternoon _

Beatrice

Once again, Markus and Elvan flanked the Dark Lady, and it occurred to Beatrice that despite the pale woman’s obvious power, she needed them to protect her—that frail human body was not her own, and was therefore vulnerable. Beatrice filed the thought away for later, and focused on what lay before her.

“What have you learned?”

“Several things of vital importance to the ritual. First, it requires seven vessels of power to complete it, one for each book. That much you knew?”

The Dark Lady nodded. “They have been chosen,” she said.

“Except for one,” Beatrice said. “The author of the book made it known to me that Calasmos himself chose who would be the center of the ritual, the so-called vainglorious liaison.”

Markus stiffened beside his master.

“Indeed?” the Dark Lady said, lifting a pale brow.

“Aye. I dinnae know how, but the name was inscribed in those books a thousand years ago.” She paused for a heartbeat. “My name.”

“What?” Markus blurted, his face reddening with rage. “My master, it was promised to me!”

His master held up a hand toward him, and he fell silent. But Beatrice could see the veins in his neck pulsing beneath his clenched jaw, and the naked hatred in his eyes as he glared at the woman who would usurp his position. Would the Dark Lady’s protection mean anything now?

“Interesting,” was all the pale woman said. “And the second thing?”

“The ritual must take place at the Royal Library of Sniflheim, on a night of a new moon.”

“Five days hence, if we are ready to perform it. What remains to prepare?”

Beatrice measured her words. “I require a key,” she said. “A textual key, as to a cipher. The book’s author says you know where to find it. Once I have it, I can begin to determine exactly how the ritual is performed.” _Begin_ to determine. Stall for time.

For the first time, the orchestrator of Beatrice’s hell showed the slightest emotion. “ _I_ have the key?” she said, her brow betraying irritation. “That bastard, Morcant. He was toying with me from the first.” The moment passed and her face returned to its placid state. “I cannot think of…” She went still for a minute or more, her eyes unfocused. “Wait here,” she said, and retreated from the room.

Markus took a step toward Beatrice, and Hendrik made to move between them, but she put a hand on the knight’s arm to stop him. She needed no protection. “Kill me now, Markus, and you’ll be the next one in the grave,” she said. “At this moment I am the single most important person in all of Erdrea as far as your master is concerned. Will you risk her wrath simply to avenge your prideful ambition?”

“Stand down, Markus,” Elvan said. “This is not over.”

“Do not condescend to me, damnable snake,” Markus hissed. He took another step forward, and lifted Beatrice’s chin, his cold, cruel eyes inches from hers. “Believe what you will,” he said, “but when this is done, I will take back what is mine, and I _will_ own you.” She could feel his hand trembling with his rage, and willed herself to remain calm and controlled.

“Markus.” He froze at the sound of his name on his master’s lips as she reentered the room. “You will not interfere.” Obediently, he resumed his stance by her side.

The Dark Lady held in her hands a vellum scroll secured by a black ribbon. “When Morcant murdered Erdwin at Calasmos’ behest and borrowed the Dark One’s power, he delivered to me this scroll. He told me it was to remember my beloved by while I awaited his return. It contained the barest information about his plan to construct a ritual to reincarnate the Dark One should another Luminary arise to destroy him body and soul, along with instructions on choosing the seven vessels of power, and a collection of prophecy and poetry from an ancient race of people who worshipped Calasmos. The key must lie within.” She handed the scroll to Beatrice. “Can you find it before the new moon?”

“If it is to be found,” the scholar said with all the hubris she could convey, “I will find it.”


	32. Chapter 32

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 13, Late Afternoon _

Beatrice

The scroll lay unrolled across the second table, held down on the margins by the seven dark books. Beatrice had read it in its entirety several times, and committed to memory most of its contents. It was exactly as the Dark Lady had described, an eclectic collection of information that seemed to have been gleaned from earlier works combined with what little Morcant wanted Calasmos’ lover to know about the ritual. Why he would have chosen to conceal Beatrice’s role in the ritual escaped her, unless it was something to do with the strange distortion in her vision, in which some small part of Morcant was actually trying to thwart the whole process. She wondered whether that odd split personality in the old wizard had hidden both keys in this scroll somewhere, but that seemed far too simple.

What was it she was looking for, exactly? A starting point for each reader. Seven books. Seven words. Some single, simple sentence that pointed to a particular couplet in each of the texts. She spoke a sentence out loud here, a phrase there, tasting them on her tongue, turning them over in her head, listening for their author—not Morcant, but someone older, someone whose voice had once read these scriptures aloud, prayed these prayers, led these poetic liturgies. And who could have even existed to worship a deity of the void, of total darkness? Could there be life without light?

_The light needs the darkness, yet the dark exists without illumination._

Her pulse quickened. “Light needs darkness,” she said, her voice animated. “Dark exists without illumination.” Seven words. No repetition. The central truth of Calasmos’ reign. “It must be!”

“Have you found it?” Hendrik stood beside her and peered down where her finger pointed.

“I’ll need to confirm it,” she said. “If I’m correct, only one couplet among all the books will begin with one of these words—one in each book, and the book of pride will contain the last one.” She tapped each word in the verse with a gloved finger. “The order of the words in the phrase will determine the position of each reader in the library, matching the order in which the books were found. Each reader will begin reading at that particular couplet, circling back to the beginning of the book once the end is reached. Whenever the bloodletting couplet is read, that reader will cut themselves and let the blood fall where they stand.” She turned enormous eyes on Hendrik, unable to hide her excitement at the discovery even though it could mean ruin. “I’ve done it,” she said. “I have unraveled the mystery entire.”

A shadow flitted across her beloved’s aquamarine eyes. “No,” he said. “Not entire. There is another key that must be found.”

How could she forget? Had the books retained some kind of hold on her after the morning’s reading? Was her own pride in her intellect leading her toward fulfilling the role she had been assigned a thousand years earlier? The choice was hers. So said Morcant. But surely he could not be trusted. Was she bound unbreakably into a predetermined future? And what of the other, hidden Morcant? He had told her that everything the evil Morcant said was a lie, and more—that she knew why. Did she?

“Aye,” she said. “The Luminary’s key. It—”

A knock on the door made Beatrice jump. Hendrik laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “Come in.”

“Dinner time,” Isabella sang and set a basket on the nearest table. She pulled out fresh-baked bread and some delicious-smelling stew. “Rabbit,” she said. “I raise them myself, so I get to eat them. This stuff is fantastic.”

Beatrice and Hendrik exchanged glances. “Thank you,” Beatrice said. “It smells wonderful. And I’m quite famished.”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 13, Late evening _

Beatrice

A lantern guttered, casting wild shadows on the stone walls of the cell, this twenty by twenty tomb beneath Yggdrasil-knew-where, the sum total of all existence for days on end now. The site of crushing despair, battering pain, and oh-so-tentative hope—if she could only figure out what Morcant—the part of him that remained Erdwin’s true friend—meant for her to know. Beatrice stood transfixed over the table. She stared at the scroll, the dark books, her scrawled notes on parchment, not seeing any of it.

Madness hovered at the edges of her consciousness where a razor-fine and jagged line separated the seductive call of giving in to the ease of simply conceding her destiny and reaping its dark rewards, and her stubborn grip on what she believed was right. Had Morcant’s foreknowledge of her led his corrupted self to choose her for her intellectual gift? Or had it led what was left of his true self to choose her as the only possible means to undo what the Dark One’s evil was forcing him to create? Could it be both, in which case there was true choice? She did not know how much longer she could hold on to sanity in the midst of this excruciating pull.

The key had to be something relatively obvious. Something she could bring to mind out of her own knowledge, rather than relying on written resources. Even Morcant could not have predicted exactly where she would be when the moment arose, could he? She called up everything she had ever read about the legend of the Luminary, which was damnably little. _The chosen of Yggdrasil, bearer of light_. But Yggdrasil’s name never appeared in any of the dark books, so that was out. _He whose leaf blooms in a burst of light._ _A champion warrior in times of Erdrea’s greatest need._ Nothing. For fuck’s sake, no one even knew what had happened all those years ago until El’s visions of the past, which Hendrik had shared with her. There was no scripture, no epic poem, nothing!

If she did not figure this out…if the answer could not be found, they would both be dead in a matter of days. She brought down her fist on the table and cried out her frustration.

Hendrik put down his book and stepped to her side, covering her fist with a gentle hand. She relaxed her fingers and splayed them on the wooden surface under his, taking in a deep breath.

“What can I do?” he asked softly at her ear.

She sagged where she stood. “Ach, I dinnae know. My mind…” Turning her chair outward from the table, she sank down into it. “I am so tired,” she said, and she felt it in every inch of her body, and to the depths of her soul. “And so, so frightened.” Her eyes went glassy. “What if I cannae save us.”

Hendrik knelt at her feet and rested his elbows on the wooden arms of the chair. “You are exhausted,” he said. “Of course you cannot think clearly. Come. Sleep. Tomorrow will be better.”

“There’s no time!” she cried, body going rigid with anger. “I cannae stall more than a day or two at most. I have nothing to go on except that it ought to be obvious, but I cannae see it.”

“You will. Yggdrasil will guide you.”

“ _Yggdrasil?_ ” Beatrice pushed him away and stood, fists clenched. “Where is Yggdrasil in any of this? Where has she _ever_ been?” She wheeled and stalked across the cell, shouting to the bare walls. “Why are we abandoned in this hellish darkness, Hendrik?” Rounding on him, she cried, “You, great paladin, who have stood among Yggdrasil’s branches, you tell me! Where IS she?” She sank to her knees, tears coursing down her cheeks, her body shaking. “I cannae bear this,” she sobbed.

His arms were suddenly around her, their strength the only thing that felt real. “We are not abandoned, no matter what befalls us,” he said. “ _The light of life shines in hatred’s darkness, and cannot be overcome._ ”

His gentle words surrounded her with peace as she wept into his chest. She marveled at how his resonant voice could convey such assuredness just by quoting a few words from ancient scripture. The phrase turned over and over in her mind and the tiniest spark of hope kindled in her, unbidden.

Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat. “That quote,” she said. “That’s from the Book of Yggdrasil.”

Hendrik nodded into her hair. “Perhaps the most well-known verse.”

The tiny spark suddenly burst into full flame. Relief flooded through her and she started to laugh through her tears. “Ach, Hendrik, I’ve been a right idiot. Of course! It’s so obvious I couldnae see it right in front of my face.”

He pulled away and peered at her, his lopsided smile tentative. “That is the key?”

“It must be. But I’ll know for certain when I’ve gone back through the books.”

“Now?” Hendrik frowned. “You need to rest.”

She shook her head, new energy suffusing her body. “I’ll rest when the riddle is well and truly solved.” She kissed him, overwhelmed with the gift he was to her in every way. A gift, she now had to believe, from Yggdrasil herself.


	33. Chapter 33

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 14, Morning _

Hendrik

It had been only a few hours since Beatrice had drifted off when Isabella knocked at the door. Hendrik called for her to enter, then shook the exhausted scholar awake. “Bolt, ye radge…” Beatrice growled, swatting at him, then seemed to remember where she was. She pushed up from the bed and put a conciliatory hand on his arm. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Isabella carried in the usual basket of breakfast foods, along with water and coffee, and an empty chamber pot. “Good morning,” she said, her usual cheerful self. “I trust you slept…oh, Beatrice, you don’t look like you slept at all.”

“Tactful,” Beatrice replied. “Aye, I’m a bit bleary.” She crossed to the table and poured herself a mug of the steaming liquid. “Do you have a moment to talk?” she asked, not making eye contact. Hendrik filled a mug with cold water and stood back, watching and waiting. He knew he would not be able to even think of eating until this conversation was over. Everything hinged upon the next few moments.

The serving girl cocked her head. “I’m not expected back in the kitchen until after I empty all the chamber pots on this level. I could say it took me longer than usual.” She plopped into a chair. “What did you want to talk about?”

Beatrice pulled a second chair to face Isabella and sat down. “Isabella, I have to ask you a question, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Of course.”

“Can I trust you?” Beatrice asked, though it came out as more of a statement, conveying the depth of what was at stake.

Isabella’s gaze faltered for a moment. “How do you mean?”

“I mean that I have begun to suspect that the Dark Lady sent you to wait on me in order to manipulate me in some way. To make me sympathetic. To cause me to trust you with more than I should. And I need to know if my instincts are correct.” Hendrik marveled at the way Beatrice could sound both grave and kind at the same time.

“I…” At length the girl sighed. “I have been the Dark Lady’s eyes and ears in this place for a long time now,” she said, and Hendrik’s gut twisted, the last vestiges of hope he had been clinging to beginning to fray. “When I finally gave up on ever leaving here, she started giving me more responsibilities. Asked me to listen for things. I was the one who told her Markus was abusing some of the women servants. He doesn’t know it was me who got the Dark Lady’s order of protection passed down.”

Beatrice nodded. “The Dark Lady knows, then, that I asked you for poison, should I find no other way to avoid serving her?”

“No,” Isabella said.

“No?”

Isabella looked up at Hendrik, her expression distraught. “After…after what Markus did I just…” She turned her gaze back to Beatrice, determination tensing her jawline. “The Dark Lady is evil. I’ve always known that, but there was no point in fighting. I’m just a kid. But then I…I’ve taken care of a lot of prisoners in this dungeon. It’s a terrible thing. Most of them die before their bodies do. But you…even with everything Markus did…” Her eyes grew red-rimmed and glassy, but she maintained the defiant set of her jaw. “I know everything he did to you. Both of you. And you still didn’t give in. And Hendrik…even when those awful books…how? How did you stop yourself?”

Hendrik set down his water and knelt beside Beatrice’s chair. “Yggdrasil aided me,” he said. “I could not have resisted on my own power.”

“When you asked me to fetch the Dark Lady, I thought you had given up,” Isabella said to Beatrice. “But then you said you would poison yourself before you actually served her…” She shook her head, her conflict plain on her face. “I won’t tell her that. I can’t.”

Beatrice turned to Hendrik, a question in her eyes.

“I do not see that we have any choice,” he said. And well they did not. Even if Isabella betrayed them, it would be no worse than if they had not asked at all. Hendrik would be forced to murder the first woman he had ever loved in order to save Erdrea.

“Isabella,” Beatrice said, taking the girls hands in her own, “do you think you could escape the fortress? Get a message to someone?”

The girl looked back and forth between them, eyes wide. “I…I don’t know. I have not tried in years. But I have a lot more privileges now, since I have been aiding the Dark Lady, and I am often on the grounds outside. Most of the guards don’t even notice me anymore.” She dropped her gaze, her brow knit in thought. “I would have to think about how.”

“You’ll be taking a terrible risk,” Beatrice said, her voice solemn. “It could cost you your life.”

Isabella shrugged. “I had already decided that anyway,” she said. “If you died by poison, the Dark Lady would know then that I had betrayed her. I would have taken the poison with you.”

The simplicity of her words rent Hendrik’s heart. This poor child. What horror her life must have been in this place. He vowed to Yggdrasil that should they survive this, she would never have to feel this way again.

“Think about it,” Beatrice said, squeezing the girl’s hands. “If it is your true desire—and _only_ if that is the case—I will entrust you with our last hope. But if you cannae help, dinnae think for one moment that I will hold it against you.”

“I…when I bring your midday meal, I’ll know.”

The serving girl rose and scampered to the back of the room to replace the chamber pot, then slipped out of the cell without another word.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 14, Morning _

Lars

Lars pulled hard on Coriander’s reins and stared, transfixed, at the scene spread out below him. Could two armies that large be poised less than a kilometer away from one another without engaging? Up on the Drasilian plateau, smashed against the new castle walls, spilling down over the bridge and encamped by the thousands around the base of the city as if a single, misshapen organism, was a massive horde of monsters. Across the plain and reaching into the surrounding forest and hills from south to north, rows of tents marked off the army camp of Dundrasil’s allies. He could make out the banners of Heliodor and Puerto Valor by their colors—the designs appeared only as blurred smudges from this distance. At the nearest edge of the force, close enough to make out more details, Lars spied the banner of Sniflheim.

“There!” he shouted, pointing. Oskar rode up beside him and followed his finger.

“Good eyes,” Oskar said. “Stay to the ridge on the south edge of the field. Let’s not make ourselves a target for any overly ambitious archers or dragooners.”

Despite their care in traversing the foothills toward the camp, the sight of their final destination spurred them onward at a greater speed, and Lars continually had to rein in lest he allow himself to launch into a full gallop. Sesqui loped along with his usual buoyance, seemingly glad at the increase in pace. As they broke away from the tree line, Oskar called out, “Sesqui, stay behind me and abreast of Lars. We don’t want anyone mistaking you for one of the enemy. As it is we’ll have to be quick about identifying ourselves once we reach the camp.”

A trumpet sounded from a distant watchtower, and a bustle of activity erupted on the near edge of the allied lines. Oskar’s horse veered toward Sniflheim’s banner and Lars followed, hoping to see familiar faces before anyone could overreact to the dragon’s presence.

“Oskar!” someone shouted, and several soldiers turned and ran toward the new arrivals, while others called back into the camp. In moments Oskar reined in and slid from Alabaster’s back.

“Anders! Where is Sir Hendrik? We must see him immediately.”

Dismay crossed Anders’ features. “He is not here, Sir. He was captured en route.”

“WHAT?” cried Lars, his heart quailing. “No! It can’t be! We need him! I need him!”

Anders looked back and forth between his captain and the boy. “What has happened?” he asked. “Why are you here?” His eyes lit on the professaurus. “And you…one of the library volunteers?” Confusion furrowed his brow.

Oskar did not stop to explain. “Anders, where is Princess Jade of Heliodor? It is of utmost urgency that I speak with her.”

At last, Oskar’s sergeant put two and two together. “The library…Mistress Beatrice.”

“ _Now_ , Anders,” Oskar said.

A crowd of Valorian soldiers had gathered around those from Sniflheim and stood staring at the dragon now in their midst. “Friend or foe?” one of them snarled.

Lars swung down off Coriander’s back. “Leave him alone!” he shouted. “He’s a friend! He’s my _best_ friend!” He clambered up onto Sesqui’s back and shook his fist down at the Valorians.

“It’s okay,” Oskar called. “This is Sesquipedalian, a most trusted and valuable ally. And we do not have time for this!” Handing his reins to another of his own soldiers, he waded into the crowd. “Come on, Sesqui,” he said. “Anders, take us to the princess.”

Jade met them halfway to Sir Aldrich’s tent, Sylvando and the twins in tow. “Oskar! What’s happened?” She looked up at Sesqui and spotted Lars on the dragon’s back. “Dear Yggdrasil. Lars! Has something happened to Beatrice?”

Lars refused to burst into tears. He was done crying, done letting the grownups do everything while he bawled like a baby. “Markus took her. And the books,” he said. “The day after Hendrik left. And now Hendrik is gone, too!”

“Come,” Jade said. “We must speak with Sir Aldrich. This has all taken on a far more sinister aspect.”

Lars

Sesqui had to crouch low to fit through the door of the tent, but had ample space to straighten up inside as long as he was sitting. Jade made the introductions, with the exception of Sesqui, whom she had not met previously. The dragon introduced himself.

“What is this about?” asked Sir Aldrich, his face betraying unease at Jade’s obvious agitation.

“A few months ago,” she began, “the Royal Library of Sniflheim was attacked by monsters led by a man called Markus. He insisted the library contained a series of books of power whose purpose was to raise the Dark One from the dead. He also insisted that the scholar in charge of the library, Beatrice of Dundrasil, was the only one who could figure out how the books worked.”

“They were there,” Oskar said. “All of them. Beatrice was in the middle of deciphering them, trying to determine whether there was truth to Markus’ claims, and more importantly, whether she could somehow counteract the evil they supposedly contained.”

“Sounds like she was playing with fire,” Veronica snapped, shooting a tiny flame from her finger for emphasis.

“No!” said Lars, scowling at the obnoxious kid wizard next to him. “She said she’d seen a way to thwart them and I know it’s true!”

“Beatrice is nothing if not brilliant,” Jade said, lighting a hand on Lars’ shoulder. “I trust her judgment.”

“But Markus had help to escape,” Oskar continued. “A shape-shifter called Elvan. The two of them managed to abscond with Beatrice and all the books the day after Sir Hendrik departed for Dundrasil.”

“Help me out, honey,” said Sylvando, “how does this all connect?”

Jade frowned, as if trying to piece it all together in her head. “Markus’ master wants to raise Calasmos. Beatrice is the only one who can make this possible. Hendrik is protecting Beatrice. So Markus’ master calls for a siege on Dundrasil, knowing that Hendrik will come to the Luminary’s aid, thus leaving Beatrice undefended.”

Oskar winced. Jade didn’t notice.

“But why take Hendrik?” Serena asked. “Why not just let him come to Dundrasil?”

“I think I know,” Oskar’s said, his voice heavy. “Beatrice and Sir Hendrik…have fallen in love.”

Serena’s eyes filled with anguish. “Oh, dear Yggdrasil. They’re using him to force her to help them.”

“Wait a minute,” Veronica said, fists on her hips. “If they have Beatrice and the books, and now Hendrik, then what are all those fucking monsters still doing here? Why not call off the siege?”

“What if they’re killing two birds with one stone?” Sylvando said.

Jade said, “Say more.”

The Valorian knight gestured in the direction of the castle. “Well, darlings, if the Luminary can’t go anywhere, he can’t stop whatever evil is afoot. Plus, we’re all too distracted by what’s happening here to figure out where Beatrice and Hendrik are.”

Lars looked around the circle of soldiers, warriors, and magic-users standing around the map table, his impatience flaring. “We need to get to the Luminary,” he said. “He’s the only one who can fix this.”

Sylvando gave Lars a sympathetic smile. “Oh, honey, I hear you. But he’s completely buried in monsters.”

“I don’t care. There has to be a way. I’ll go get him out myself if I have to.”

“Cool off, kid,” said Veronica. “Let us grownups figure this out.”

Sesqui cocked his head. “Um. Grownups?”

“Forget it!” Lars snarled, shoving down the urge to punch the wizard. “This stupid siege has been going on for two weeks. Have you figured it out yet?”

“Ooh. Point,” said the dragon.

“Stay out of this!” Veronica snapped at Sesqui. She stepped closer to Lars, eyes sparking. “Okay then, what do _you_ suggest?”

Lars leaned over the map. “Tell me what all this is,” he said.

“May I?” Jade asked Sir Aldrich.

“By all means,” the general replied.

Jade picked up a slender wand and pointed to the various parts of the lands around the castle plateau. “Here,” she said, “is the main access to the castle. It’s entirely overrun, as are the grounds around the wall, so there’s no approaching that way. The cliffs behind the plateau are almost entirely inaccessible. Down here,” she said, indicating the strip of land between the two forks of the river, “is the exit to the old escape tunnel. We’re pretty sure the monsters know it’s there, and have made sure to prevent any movement into or out of the castle.”

“It looks impossible,” said Oskar.

“Yes and no,” said Serena. “You see, we’ve discovered that as many of half of the monsters aren’t actually there.”

Oskar’s eyebrows shot up. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Serena said with a smile. “They are illusions cast by a host of master moosifers stationed throughout the enemy camp.” She briefly recapped their successful mission to prove Veronica’s theory.

“The problem,” said Sylvando, “is that as long as the illusion is up, our soldiers can’t tell what’s real and what’s not, and that puts us at a serious disadvantage, even if our numbers are a little greater.”

Lars stared at the map. He walked his fingers along the perimeter of the enemy horde, pausing now and then. Taking the wand from Jade, he tapped the edge of the table in a steady rhythm. Illusionary monsters. Exit tunnels. Master moosifers. Defensible terrain. He turned it over and over in his mind. Yes…that might work. Finally, he looked up to find every eye in the room trained on him.

“Did you figure it out?” asked Sesqui.

“Maybe,” Lars said. “I think I can get into the tunnels if everyone helps. But I still don’t know how to get the Luminary out.”

“If you can get in,” Serena said, hope brightening her eyes, “we have a way to get him out.”

Jade nodded, serious. “How would you get in?” she asked.

Pointing with the wand, Lars said, “The land around the tunnel exit is cut off from the rest of the field by the river. I saw it as we came out of the foothills—it’s a pretty deep ravine, and there’s only one bridge.”

“Okay,” Jade encouraged.

“But a mile or so further south,” Lars continued, dragging the wand, “there’s a place where the river actually cuts through underneath a stone arch wide enough for a few people to go across side by side.” He glanced at Oskar. “Oskar kept us off the roads in case of wandering enemies, otherwise we never would have seen it.” Turning back to the map, he said, “So what if we did this: One group attacks this part of the monster army,” he pointed to the southern quarter of the horde, “focusing on the moosifers and the bridge. Hopefully that pulls some of the monsters away from the tunnel exit. At the same, another group crosses the stone arch downstream, then sneaks along the cliffs here on the west side of the river, and attacks the rest of the monsters by the tunnel exit.”

Sylvando cocked his head. “I see what you’re getting at, darling, but there’s no guarantee we’ll get enough monsters out of the way for you to reach the tunnels.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lars said. “I’ll already be in the tunnels by that point.”


	34. Chapter 34

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 14, Noon _

Beatrice

Beatrice let loose a left jab and connected with the padded iron bar.

“Good!” Hendrik said. “Do you feel the difference?”

“Aye. It’s much more satisfying that way.” She stepped back, and then went again with her right fist.

“Not quite. Through the hip. Here.” From behind her, he laid the flat of his hand against the front of her hip bone. Beatrice inhaled sharply and froze, eyes closing. Hendrik’s loins twitched in answer. In the midst of this hell…yet he could not deny his need. He circled her waist from behind with his other arm and kissed her neck. She moaned softly, and leaned into his chest, reaching back to lace her hands behind his head.

Hendrik slid his hands up her stomach to her breasts, the feel of her nipples hardening beneath her dress sending waves of fire through him. She arched under his fingers, bending her knees and pulling him down to the floor behind her. He groaned in anticipation, the thought of her body around him almost more than he could bear. Circling her waist again, he clasped her shoulder with his other hand and turned her in his arms, capturing her mouth with his, tasting her with his tongue, reveling in the power of her return kiss. She clung to him and lifted her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist, sliding against his hardness. This. This was all there was. Nothing mattered but the very fact of Beatrice in this moment.

Someone knocked at the cell door.

Hendrik sagged, growling in frustration. _Damn it, Isabella!_

Beatrice kissed him one last time before rolling out from under him and clambering unsteadily to her feet. “Come in,” she said, and brushed off her skirts. Behind her, Hendrik pushed himself up and sat cross-legged, his shirt billowed out to hide his arousal.

Isabella emerged from the doorway with her basket and a bottle of wine. She wore her usual, cheerful expression, but Hendrik could tell from across the room that it had been painted on over a troubled heart. “Cold chicken and vegetables with fresh bread and butter,” she said. “Simple but tasty.” She laid each item out on the table along with plates and cups. “Do you need more water?” she asked Hendrik, well aware by now that he seldom drank alcohol.

“Perhaps by the evening meal,” he said, still sitting.

“Okay.” She gathered up the empty basket and prepared to leave. Then she looked up at Beatrice, her expression a mix of fear and determination, and said simply, “I’ll do it.”

Beatrice hugged her. “When?”

“I’ll be bringing in a tub for you to bathe tonight,” she said. “After I’ve retrieved it and cleaned up, my duties are done for the day. No one will even look for me after that until tomorrow morning. It has to be then.”

“I’ll have everything you need before the evening meal,” Beatrice said.

Isabella nodded sharply, pasted her smile back on her face, and knocked to be let out of the cell.

Beatrice turned to Hendrik. “I need to work,” she said.

“You do,” he replied. He stood, wheeled, and punched into the padded iron with all his strength.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 14, Evening _

Beatrice

The clean muslin shift felt like heaven around Beatrice’s freshly washed body, even bunched as it was around her legs at the moment. She plunged her bare arms into the still-hot water, then lathered her hands with the fragrant soap Isabella had brought them. Gently and firmly, she dug her fingers into Hendrik’s fine hair, massaging his scalp, scrubbing his long locks and his freshly-groomed beard. Now and then she would knead into the muscles of his neck and shoulders, pushing with all her strength to ease some of the tension out of his body. She was well aware of a different kind of tension she was causing him, but he lay still under her ministrations, breathing deeply in a semi-meditative state.

So long had they been living this nightmare she had almost forgotten what it was to touch him in anything other than despair. The feel of his body, however briefly, that morning had reconnected her to her own physical self, to _life_. The light of life that shone in hatred’s darkness. Yggdrasil’s power lay not simply in literal light, but in the light that was life itself, flourishing in the countless souls that bedecked her glorious branches.

Hendrik’s life, strong and warm beneath her massaging fingers, called to hers, anchored and liberated it. She would hold fast to his life and revel in it for as long as they had left.

She filled a pitcher with the bath water and poured it over his head, running her fingers through his hair to help get all the soap out. Satisfied, she leaned over him and kissed his temple. He turned his head, brushing his cheek under her lips, before leaning forward and standing. She watched in unabashed admiration as the water ran off his body, almost disappointed when he lifted a towel from the table and began drying himself off. He stepped out onto the carpet and she pulled herself to her feet, taking a second towel and assisting him. Silence hung between them, not heavily, but as a respectful hush befitting the tender intimacy they shared.

Hendrik donned clean clothes and drew Beatrice into an embrace, kissing the top of her head. She held him almost gingerly, like something precious and fragile. At length, they parted, Beatrice to refill her wine, Hendrik to drag the tub to the drain at the far end of the room and empty it there. He returned it to the wheeled conveyance upon which Isabella had pushed it into the cell as Beatrice gathered the towels and soiled clothing and bundled all into its base. She topped the pile with the soap, but set aside the razor Isabella had smuggled in for Hendrik.

They sat side by side at the table holding hands, waiting for Isabella to return. Beatrice tried to still her nerves with the wine, but she knew even an entire bottle of Drasilian Rivergod would not have sufficed for the task. When the knock finally came, she jumped. Hendrik squeezed her hand. “Come in,” she said, and drained her cup.

Isabella slipped in and the door thudded to and locked behind her. “Oh, thanks for cleaning this up,” she said, glancing down at the tub.

Beatrice stood. “Are you ready, Lass?” she asked, taking Isabella’s hands in hers.

“Yes,” Isabella answered. “But I’m scared.”

“Ach, I wouldnae expect otherwise. Come.” She led the girl to the second table and slid three sheets of parchment from beneath her pile of notes. They were covered in drawn maps and written instructions, everything the Luminary would need to counter whatever evil the books contained. Beatrice had no idea exactly what would happen when the alternate ritual was carried out, only that it would thwart Calasmos utterly. She folded the three sheets together in thirds and cut a small slit through all nine layers along one edge with the razor. “Did you bring the ribbon?” she asked.

Isabella pulled a length of grey silk from her shift, then pulled up her outer dress to up above her shoulders. Beatrice ran the ribbon through the slit in the parchment, then tied the bundle flat against Isabella’s back, running the ribbon around her several times before securing it through two more small slits she cut into the muslin. Isabella lowered her dress and Beatrice examined her critically from behind. “There is the tiniest bulge at your waist where the knot is,” she said, “but you would have to be looking for it, I think.” She glanced up at Hendrik who nodded agreement.

“I hope I don’t fail you,” Isabella said, her eyes growing red-rimmed.

“You cannae fail us, Lass,” Beatrice said. “No matter what happens, your courage is enough.”

Hendrik knelt and placed a hand on Isabella’s head. “Yggdrasil speed you on your way, make your steps sure, and guide and guard you with her love.”

With a deep breath, Isabella hugged Hendrik, then Beatrice, and knocked to be let out of the cell. The bolt scraped and the door slid open. Isabella tucked the razor under the pile of towels and wheeled the tub out of the room without a backward glance.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 14, Evening _

Isabella

The sky had gone to purple, stars beginning to wink into visibility over the fortress wall. Isabella walked purposefully through the courtyard toward the inner gate, pretending to be heedless of the guards—a bloodbonnet and a goobonce—as she passed between the gate houses and entered the barbican. As she had hoped, they did not even seem to register her presence. When the guard changed in a few minutes, no one would remember her leaving the keep.

At this hour, the outer court was nearly abandoned. A few stable hands led horses from their grazing back into their stalls for the night, and a pair of guards stood at the gate in the low outer wall. Isabella’s eyes followed the seldom-used road to her only means of egress from the fortress, but she turned her steps toward the rabbit enclosure at the edge of the gardens, the one place no one would question her presence, even at this hour. She fussed with her fuzzy charges all the while watching the gate, trying to build up her courage for what could be a hasty end to her mission. The guards would change any moment. If she did not act now, she would not have another chance.

Hendrik’s blessing echoed in her ears, but she could not bring herself to rely on Yggdrasil after all these years. No. This was up to her and her alone. With a deep breath, she bolted across the lawn to the gate calling out, “Come back here, you!”

The goobonce stationed there turned his four eyes on the girl, while the bloodbonnet bounced back and forth between his feet. “What’s the meaning of this?” the bloodbonnet asked, brandishing his poisonous claws.

“Did you see where he went?”

“Who?” asked the goobonce, turning his body so that the eyes in his shoulders could survey the area.

“The rabbit! I just chased him over here!”

“We didn’t see anything moving,” the bloodbonnet snarled, its central eye narrowing beneath its eponymous skin helmet.

Isabella scowled. “Well, he is black,” she said. “I think he might have slipped under the gate.” She pushed past them and dropped to her knees, peering through the small gap beneath the heavy, metal-plated door. Surreptitiously, she scraped into the dirt, creating a slight indentation. “Oh no! I can see where he’s dug his way out.” She brushed the dirt from her skirts and turned to the guards with imploring eyes. “I need to go after him,” she said.

The goobonce scoffed, baring his fangs. “Ridiculous. No one goes in or out at this hour.”

“You don’t understand,” Isabella said, her voice pleading. “That was my prize rabbit! The one the Dark Lady had chosen for her dinner tomorrow! If I don’t get him back, I’m— _we’re_ —dead!” It was a far-fetched story, but Isabella was counting on the fact that bloodbonnets and goobonces made better fighters than scholars.

The bloodbonnet took up his agitated bouncing again. “You’re not gonna catch a black rabbit in the dark out there.”

“It’s not completely dark yet,” Isabella insisted, removing a carrot from her cloak, “and I have his favorite. I don’t think he’ll have gone far. Please! I’ll be back in a second.”

The guards exchanged glances. “If anyone finds out we opened this gate, we’re more dead than if just some stupid rabbit disappears,” the bloodbonnet said.

Heart hammering in her chest, Isabella said, “I won’t say a word. No one will ever know.” She mustered a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll save some of the rabbit for you. Most delicious thing you’ve ever had.”

The goobonce shifted from claw to claw. “We never get anything like that,” he said.

“Five minutes. Promise. I’m sure he’s hunkered down just outside the gate.”

Without a word, the goobonce and his partner stepped backward into the shadow of the stone doorposts and lifted the crosspiece. “Knock when you find him,” the goobonce said, opening one side of the gate just wide enough for Isabella to fit.

“You’ll love my rabbit stew!” she whispered, and slipped into the outer darkness. The door closed behind her with a barely-audible thud, followed by the sound of the crosspiece dropping back into place.

Drawing a ragged breath, Isabella wiped the sweat from her palms and crept along the wall, hiding in the shadows until she was certain she could no longer be seen by anyone in the watch towers. No alarm was raised when she failed to return before the guards changed, and she fervently hoped the stupid goobonce and bloodbonnet would be too terrified for their own necks to say anything about the slave girl they’d let out of the fortress.

Now came the truly frightening part. Isabella had not been out of that fortress in three years, had little idea of where she was going, never mind that it was now night, and the waning moon offered almost no illumination. She would be running blind, armed only with the small kitchen knife she’d stolen and concealed in her hose. Hendrik had pieced together a little of the fortress’ location from what he remembered about being carried there and what Isabella could tell him about which way the keep faced, and the location of the outer gate. He had told her to go due south until she could see the World Tree, head towards that, then follow the base of the First Forest plateau towards the sunrise. That would take her to Dundrasil.

Long shot didn’t begin to describe her chances of success, but she knew she would give everything she had in the attempt. For two years she had longed for nothing more than to get away from that terrible place, and even during the third year, when she had resigned herself to living out her whole life in the mountain fortress, a part of her still clung to the ridiculous hope that liberation was possible. Beatrice and Hendrik had offered it to her even as they themselves faced death for the sake of Erdrea. She had long ceased believing that such people as they existed. “Okay, Yggdrasil,” she muttered. “If you’re more than just a stupid tree in the sky, now’s your chance to prove it to me. Because if I actually survive this, you’ll be the only explanation.”

She pulled the knife out of her sock and slipped it into the belt at her waist. Knowing she needed to get as far away as possible before sunrise, Isabella ran.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 14, Late Evening _

Beatrice

Beatrice finished off the bottle of wine and set her cup on the table. “One way or another, it’s done,” she said. “Tomorrow I dinnae doubt things are going to get far worse for us.” Absently, she ran her fingers over the myriad scars that covered her hands, arms, and shoulders from the wounds Markus had inflicted. The Dark Lady needed her alive, but not necessarily whole.

Hendrik took her hands, his blue-green eyes soft in the lantern-light. “Then let us not think of tomorrow. Nor of the past.” He pulled her arms toward him and turned them, palms upward. “You own these scars, not him,” he said, then lifted the inside of her forearm to his lips, tenderly kissing the nearest raised line. His touch on her skin sent a wave of desire through her belly. She drew a sharp breath and closed her eyes.

“They are a sign of your strength.” He kissed the next one, and the next, moving slowly upward, each time quickening her pulse. “They are a sign of your life.” His lips brushed the scar at her left shoulder, the site of Markus’ first attack upon her, and it was as though he was reclaiming for her all that had been taken. “They are a sign that no one shall _ever_ own you.” He nuzzled the thin line across her cheek, then kissed it.

She lifted his chin and met his gaze. “Aye,” she said. “None shall own me. But to you, I give myself willingly.” He smiled his lopsided smile, his eyes full of desire, and she attacked his mouth with hers, near knocking him out of his chair. He crushed her to him and stood, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. He laid her down, and she pulled him on top of her, desperate to feel the weight and strength of his body, the hardness of him, desperate to have him inside her. She tore at his shirt, leaving off her frantic kisses just long enough to pull it over his head, then dug into the flesh of his back with her nails, wrapping her legs around him and moaning her desire like a cat in heat. He responded with a groan so deep it seemed to come directly from his loins and sent another surge of want through her.

He pulled away and lifted her to her knees on the bed, running his hands down over her hips and thighs and lifting her dress over her head. He tossed it aside and returned for the shift, covering her mouth and neck with kisses as he raised it, his hands slowly sliding up over her sides and back. She trembled under his touch, her breath coming in quick little gasps as he freed her from the muslin and leaned her naked body back over his arm. She cried out as his lips found her breasts, and clutched at the hair at the nape of his neck, holding his head while he nipped and sucked first one and then the other.

Half mad with desire, she pushed against him, toppling him backward so that he hit his head and shoulders against the wall. “Sorry,” she gasped out, then attacked him again with her mouth. He laughed through their kiss and allowed her to pull him down and onto his back. With her lips and tongue, she worked her way down his neck and chest, to his stomach, her hands unfastening his breeches and sliding them down over his hips. She kissed and sucked at the hollow of his thigh, calling forth increasingly loud moans from him, until she took his member into her mouth and he arched and cried out, full-voiced, filling the room with the echo of his desire. She teased his head with her tongue, then slid down over him in a slow rhythm, reveling in his rising frenzy. At length she pulled away and finished removing his trousers, flinging them across the room with abandon.

In a single, fluid motion, Hendrik sat up, grabbed Beatrice around the waist and pulled her to him. Her knees hit the bed on either side of him and she felt his hardness between her legs and mewled in anticipation. “I want you inside of me,” she hissed in his ear, and he groaned his agreement, assailing her neck with his teeth and tongue. She arched back, tipping her breasts toward him and he latched on, drawing another wailing groan from her. She reached between her legs to grasp his manhood, and without pausing, slammed herself down over him.

They cried out together and she pushed him back over onto the bed, lacing her fingers through his and holding him down while she slid up his shaft and back down, her body trembling around him. She grew frantic, her pace accelerating, and Hendrik wrested his hands from hers to grasp her around the waist and lift her off of him.

“Slow down,” he gasped out.

She opened her mouth to protest and he silenced her with a kiss before laying her down on her back and exploring her body with his hands and lips. His fingers found the wet silk between her legs and he slid two inside her while teasing the center of her pleasure with his thumb. She writhed beneath him, her vocalizations deep and constricted. “More,” she moaned. “More!” He leaned over her and suckled her breast while he continued to pleasure her with his fingers. She was gasping now, nearing her crest, desperate for him. “Now!” she screamed out.

With an answering cry, Hendrik pounded into her, filling her entirely, the roughness of him instantly pushing her over the edge. She howled as her orgasm burst forth around him, and he growled his ecstasy in reply as he thrust again and again, reaching his own release with an exultant roar.

He slowed, then stopped, and dropped onto her chest with an exhausted groan, his breath coming in ragged gasps, a sheen of sweat on his shoulders. Beatrice ran her fingers tenderly through his hair, overcome with gratitude for the weight of him, the joy of him, the _life_ of him. She was more alive because of him. No matter what befell her tomorrow, she would cling to this, and know that he was inextricably entwined with her very being, and nothing could take that away. Not even death.


	35. Chapter 35

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 6:30AM _

Indignus

Indignus crouched at the edge of the plateau, the distant thunder of the waterfall’s base far below accompanying his thoughts. It had been three days and still no signal from the Dark Lady. Why bother calling him out to kill Erik if she was planning to just starve the man to death? It was hardly honorable. And if he lost the opportunity to fulfill her request, would it make null and void her promises to give him Gallopolis and Hotto? He wanted to believe she would be true to her word, else he would have to return to Gallopolis in dishonor, which would only provoke his tribe to ridicule him the more.

The sound of a horse’s hooves drew him out of his reverie and he glanced over his shoulder to see a dark dullahan on the other side of the narrow river branch. “Headless Honcho, I presume?” he called, drawing himself up to his full height. “You’re late.”

The Headless Honcho tipped his shield up at a sharp angle. “Damn. You’re taller than I imagined.” His horse tramped in the soft dirt at the water’s edge.

“Actually, I am small for my species,” Indignus replied. “I am told that will change once our mission is fulfilled.”

“There’s no ‘our,’” the Honcho scoffed. “I don’t care one bit what you do. Lord Robert is mine, _and_ the Luminary when I find him.”

Indignus frowned. “The Dark Lady was clear that the Luminary was not our concern. Only the thief Erik and Lord Robert. Are you wholly without honor?”

“Honor?” The Honcho let loose a rasping laugh, his body shaking behind his shield face. “Who cares anything for such nonsense? Chaos is all that matters.” He seemed to be having a hard time controlling himself and Indignus’ frown deepened into a scowl.

“You must do what you will, I suppose,” the giant said, and turned back toward the castle plateau. He peered toward the walls, gauging the number of archers trained in his general direction. The first rays of the morning sun appeared over the distant hills, half-blinding him. “Though I do wonder how you plan to get down there if there is no ‘our.’”

With a jingle of horse armor, the dullahan’s mount stepped closer to the edge of the cliff. “Come now,” the Honcho said. “The Dark Lady assured me you would be able to get me close to my mark.” He added with a sardonic grin, “It would hardly be _honorable_ for you not to follow through.”

“Unless this _chaos_ you’re so fond of living in had led you to get here too late,” Indignus retorted, his patience with this irritating creature growing thin. Much to his annoyance, the Headless Honcho responded with another rasping laugh.

“True enough,” the dullahan said. “Well, I’m here now, and still no signal. So all is as it is meant to be, yes?” He stretched his arms, his shield extending out over the drop-off. “Dear Calasmos that’s a long way down!” His voice was suddenly anxious. “You can make that jump safely?”

Indignus allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. “My kind are known for their shock absorption,” he said. “And it’s a good thing, because—” A tremor rumbled up through the earth beneath his feet, as though the whole of the land was growling. He bent his knees to keep steady as the rumbling grew more intense, escalating into a full-scale earthquake, though it felt like the ground was snarling in rage, not simply experiencing a mindless geological phenomenon. He was aware of the Headless Honcho’s horse backing away from the edge, its eyes rolling in terror. “It is the signal,” Indignus announced, and without waiting even for an acknowledgement from the dullahan, he grabbed the black steed under one arm, wrapped his other arm around the Headless Honcho’s body, and leapt out into the open air.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 6:40AM _

Jade

Silence rang in Jade’s ears for several moments after the violent earthquake ceased. Then from around the camp she heard cries of consternation and running feet. She ducked out of Sir Aldrich’s tent, searching the area for signs of any serious damage. The southern watchtower had collapsed, but it appeared as though that was the only casualty. She offered a quick prayer to Yggdrasil that no one had been hurt. “Soldier,” she commanded a nearby young woman, “go find out the status of the people by the tower and report back.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” the soldier cried, and raced off.

“And you,” she said, pointing to another, “do the same for the area north of here.”

“Ma’am!”

Still feeling unsteady on her feet, the princess darted back into the dim interior of the command center, where the leaders of today’s critical maneuver stood anticipating instruction. Sir Aldrich stood at the head of the table, pointer wand in hand. Don Mateo and Don Joaquin of Puerto Valor, Sir Ewan of Heliodor, and Oskar of Sniflheim stood opposite him, focused on the map. Sylvando leaned against a tent post, cleaning under his fingernails with a dagger, his hooded eyes on Sir Aldrich. Serena had taken her position on one side of the table, and while she appeared to be concentrating on the map, Jade noticed the way her gaze kept darting toward Oskar. Veronica leaned on the table with folded arms, tapping the ground behind her with her foot. A handful of other soldiers gathered around their commanding officers, some taking notes.

“What’s the status?” asked the General when Jade reappeared.

“The south tower collapsed,” she said. “It doesn’t look like there was any other damage, but I’ve sent scouts to get a full report.”

He nodded, then returned to the business at hand. “As I was saying, Don Mateo will lead the strike team into the foothills to approach the exit tunnel from the cliff side.” He pointed with the wand. “Veronica will accompany him to provide magical support for the otherwise small force.”

“You bet your ass,” Veronica said, and Sylvando chuckled indulgently.

“Sir Ewan, Princess Jade will accompany your battalion to the bridge. Her particular skills in manipulating wind will be critical in clearing a path for your troops to get across what would otherwise be an easily defensible expanse.”

“Yes, Sir!” The forty-something knight turned to his princess. “We will do everything in our power to protect you,” he said.

Jade glared at him. “Drop the chivalrous crap,” she said. “You keep your troops focused on getting to the river. I’ll take care of myself. I won’t have you blow this mission because you’re worried about pissing off my father.”

Sir Ewan cleared his throat and pulled at his long moustache. “O-of course, your highness,” he stammered, going red.

“Don Joaquin,” Sir Aldrich continued, addressing Don Mateo’s most trusted commander, “You’ll take the northernmost part of the field for this campaign.” He indicated the spot on the map. “Your only job is to keep any enemy forces from moving south to lend aid to their comrades. Possibly you’ll have little resistance, as the enemy knows full well its numbers are not as great as they appear, but you must be prepared to have the entire horde swarm you if we’re wrong.”

“Sir!” Joaquin replied.

“I’m with you, honey,” Sylvando announced to his countryman. “My job is to keep morale up and bring the healing.” He tapped a quick dance, his infectious grin instantly lessening the tension in the room.

“And Sir Oskar,” Aldrich went on, “you’re to take the ground between the bridge and Don Joaquin’s troops. Your primary objective is to take down any master moosifers in the immediate vicinity. We estimate there could be as many as three in that area. You’ll have the most highly trained crossbowmen in your battalion—get them deep into the enemy lines and protect them while they attack the moosifers from a distance.”

“Yes, Sir,” Oskar said, and Jade smiled inwardly at his confidence. In just a few short weeks Hendrik had had quite the impact on the already gifted warrior. She knew she had been right to recommend him to Sir Aldrich for this mission.

“We anticipate your battalion could have the highest casualties, so we’re sending Serena with you—not only is she a more than competent fighter, but her healing skills are unmatched in Erdrea.”

Serena blushed. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I will do my best.”

Oskar turned and smiled at her, his whole face transforming. “I do not doubt it,” he said.

 _Oh dear is right_ , thought Jade, hiding her own smile. _Could this possibly be more adorable?_ She just hoped they both survived the next few hours.

Sir Aldrich fixed each one of them with a commanding stare. “Any questions?” No one spoke. “Good. Don Mateo, prepare to move out. Everyone else will be in position within the hour and await your signal from the pass.”

Don Mateo saluted and ducked from the tent.

“Okay, I’m out of here,” Veronica said, sounding gleeful. “Can’t _wait_ to incinerate some assholes.”

Serena grabbed her hand as she made to leave. “Take care,” she said, her eyes wide and serious.

“Of course,” Veronica said. “I won’t do anything reckless.” She hugged her sister. “And you don’t either! I’m not happy that you’re going into most dangerous part of this.”

“I’ll be careful,” Serena replied. “You know I will.” The sisters hugged again and Veronica followed Don Mateo out.

“Hopton,” the general commanded, and his secretary scurried to his side from the back of the tent. “Send messengers to the remaining generals. We’ll brief in thirty minutes. I want every single troop in this army ready to provide reinforcements at a moment’s notice today.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hopton squeaked, and disappeared.

Jade had to concede that Sir Aldrich had been the right choice to replace Sir Hendrik as the head of her father’s military. Of course, Sir Hendrik had trained the man, but even so, he seemed to have come into his own. She was confident he would ultimately lead this allied army to victory and liberate Dundrasil, provided Lars was successful in his secret mission. As she stepped out of the tent, she checked the angle of the newly risen sun. With any luck, he and Sesqui would be in position within the next fifteen minutes. No matter how impressive Sir Aldrich was, he had nothing on Lars.


	36. Chapter 36

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 6:40AM _

Hendrik

The earthquake had shaken Hendrik and Beatrice awake, their entire underground world pitching about them as though they were on the high seas in a gale. Hendrik had curled his body around Beatrice, concerned that at any moment the ceiling might crash down upon them. By the time it had ceased he was nothing if not impressed with the construction of this mountain fortress. Not even a pebble had been dislodged in their stone cell.

“What in Erdrea was that?” Beatrice crawled from Hendrik’s embrace and slid her feet onto the carpet. “Ach, at least the floor isnae moving now,” she said. Stretching her arms and back, she rose and headed for the curtained-off chamber pot.

Hendrik retrieved his breeches and shirt from where they’d been flung the previous night and pulled them on, still feeling unsteady on his feet. He had experienced earthquakes before—Zwaardsrust was prone to them, and he had childhood memories of his father comforting him after one particularly violent incident. But something about this one felt different. Unnatural, somehow. He shook it off—his mind had been so beaten down in the past week he couldn’t really trust such a vague notion. He scooped Beatrice’s shift off the floor and held it out to her when she emerged.

She took hold of the muslin, but he did not relinquish it, instead pulling her toward him and kissing her. He dropped the underdress and wrapped his arms around her naked body, relishing the softness of her skin beneath his hands. “Good morning,” he said with his lopsided smile.

“Are we starting over, then?” she replied. “Because there was nothing good about that earthquake.”

He kissed her again, and began thinking he had put his clothes back on too soon. “Why don’t we start over from last night?” he said.

“Aye, that would be a good morning. But…” She glanced toward the door, a worried frown drifting across her face. “I dinnae know what time it is, or what will happen when Isabella is found to be missing.”

Hendrik had to concede the point. With a final, lingering kiss, he released her and made his way to the chamber pot. He heard Beatrice pour herself a cup of water from the pitcher and wondered whether she was hung over from all the wine. He doubted it—Drasilians were legendary for their tolerance, though he hadn’t quite believed it until he’d seen Rab imbibe in their months together on the road, and Beatrice had borne the notion out. He was a little envious, truth be told. He had never been able to drink without wanting to fall asleep. Pushing aside his odd musing, he washed his hands in the basin and joined Beatrice by the table. She had put on her shift and dress and he had to admit he found her as beautiful clothed as otherwise.

“No telling when or even if we’ll get breakfast,” she said, handing him an apple. “I’m just glad Isabella always brought us more than we needed.” She dropped her eyes to the little basket of fruit on the table.

“Yggdrasil is with her,” he said softly, responding to her unspoken concern. “And with us.”

They heard the bolt scrape open and the door came flying inward and slammed against the wall with monstrous force. Markus stormed into the room, his face a mix of fury and glee, and his hand fastened around Beatrice’s throat. He lifted her off the ground and swung her into the stone just beside the lintel, pinning her by her neck.

With a roar, Hendrik flung himself at Markus, in one deft move wrenching Markus’ arm away from Beatrice and flipping him onto his back on the hard floor with his legs up against the wall. Markus bent his knees and shoved away from the stone, sliding under Hendrik and the table. Hendrik wheeled, hurled the table aside and dove at Markus, landing a blow across the younger man’s face that sent blood flying.

A powerful coil of muscle seized Hendrik’s middle and sent him sailing across the room to crash into the wall over the bed. Before he could even land, Elvan’s tail was around him again, holding him immobile a foot above the ground. He strained against the sherpent’s grip, rage coursing through him. “Do not touch her!” he shouted.

Beatrice had slumped to the floor, clutching at her throat and coughing, eyes tight shut. As Markus got to his feet, Elvan reached out with a section of his body and healed the man’s broken nose.

“What, no thanks?” the sherpent complained as Markus kicked aside a fallen chair and lifted Beatrice by her hair.

She found her feet and pushed herself the rest of the way to standing.

“You’ve done it now,” Markus growled at her. “Isabella is gone and _she_ knows it’s your doing. She’ll be here shortly to discuss matters, but I had to come early to express my gratitude.”

“Gratitude,” Beatrice rasped, brow furrowed.

“She had been convinced you would join her once you carried out the ritual, and had planned for you to replace me as her second in command.” Markus’ voice dripped outrage. “Now, even if you should choose to serve the Dark One, it will be as _my_ slave.”

Hendrik could not see Markus’ face, but he could imagine the flinty-eyed leer, and his rage redoubled.

“Are you so sure?” Beatrice said, her voice gaining strength. “Calasmos chose me a thousand years ago. Do you really think the Dark Lady will have any say in what he decides now?”

Across the room, Hendrik was torn between pride at her strength and fear at her provoking Markus. He held his breath waiting for the next outburst.

“Markus, stand down.”

The sadistic bastard jumped and whirled to see his master standing in the doorway. Elvan dropped Hendrik and whipped his tail across the room, where he healed Beatrice’s throat before picking up table and chair and gathering himself into a coil at the Dark Lady’s side.

Hendrik struggled to his feet and stepped off the bed.

“Stay where you are, Sir Hendrik of Dundrasil,” she said, and he froze, taut and watchful. She turned and beckoned Beatrice to stand before her, and the Drasilian scholar moved away from Markus’ trembling form to face her captor. “What is the meaning of this?” the pale woman asked.

“I can only assume you’re talking about Isabella,” Beatrice replied. “Markus says she is gone.”

Markus spluttered, “You _knew_ she was—”

“Markus.” The Dark Lady’s expressionless voice continued to unnerve Hendrik in every way. He could see it had a similar effect on Jasper’s misguided brother as the younger man went silent. “What do you know about this?” she said to Beatrice.

They had not discussed what they would say, and Hendrik had no idea what would come out of his lover’s mouth next. “I know that four days since, Markus broke your order of protection and attempted to make Sir Hendrik brutally rape Isabella using the books of power.”

Markus blanched, eyes going wild, but held his tongue.

Beatrice went on. “She confided in me how she had grown to accept her place here, even as your slave. But after that…” She shook her head. “I dinnae doubt such a traumatic experience might lead her to attempt an escape.”

The Dark Lady remained expressionless. “I do not trust you, Beatrice of Dundrasil,” she said, “although I cannot prove you are complicit in her disappearance. Were it up to me, you and Sir Hendrik would be dead already. But for some unaccountable reason,” the barest hint of anger creased her pallid brow, “Calasmos chose you and you alone to see to his resurrection in this time and place, and I must have your cooperation.” She indicated Hendrik with her head on the last word, implying that the need for her cooperation was the only thing keeping him alive. “Know this. Isabella will be found and returned here, and her punishment will be severe. Whatever you might have been planning with her will be thwarted.”

Hendrik prayed silently for Isabella’s protection and care, as if he could somehow counteract the Dark Lady’s words from where he stood in that cell.

“I am changing the terms of our agreement,” the pale woman went on. “If you cooperate, I will free Sir Hendrik as agreed—I know without that guarantee, you will not fulfill your role. However, you will remain under my dominion thereafter, regardless of your willingness.”

“No!” Hendrik cried.

The Dark Lady held up a hand and Elvan’s tail lashed out, throwing the knight off his feet. He slammed into the wall, pain shooting through his head and neck where he connected with the stone, then dropped onto the bed, momentarily disoriented.

“If you do not cooperate, I will personally tear Sir Hendrik apart in front of you inch by inch, and will thereafter do the same with one innocent person at a time until you change your mind.” Her emotionless delivery made such a pronouncement far more terrifying than any backed by rage. “What say you, Beatrice of Dundrasil? Your life for Sir Hendrik’s?”

“Done,” Beatrice said, without hesitation. _And what else could she have said?_ Hendrik wondered miserably.

“As I expected. We depart for the Royal Library of Sniflheim tomorrow in anticipation of the new moon two days hence. Markus, Elvan; as we discussed.” And with that, she withdrew from the cell.

Hendrik rolled from the bed and crossed the floor to Beatrice in two strides. “What has been discussed?” he demanded, taking her hand and drawing her away from the Dark Lady’s minions.

“Gotten used to your little luxury suite, I imagine,” Markus said with an evil grin. “All that ends now.”

Elvan slithered around them in a wide circle, his head bobbing. “You’re such terribly, _terribly_ noble people,” he said. “Especially Hendrik. The Dark Lady thinks he’s too good of an influence on you, dear Beatrice. So you must be separated.”

“No,” Beatrice said. “That wasnae the agreement.”

Markus laughed. “Fuck the agreement. You made it null and void when you chose to conspire with that traitorous little bitch.”

The sherpent stopped face to face with the Drasilian scholar, his tongue fluttering inches from her nose. “So terribly noble that the Dark Lady fully expects you to try to kill yourself rather than fulfill your destiny.” Hendrik went cold. “And we can’t have that.”

“You’re daft,” she said, but Hendrik could feel her hand trembling in his as her last possible escape slipped away.

“Am I?” Elvan forced his head and upper body in between the lovers, wrapping a coil around each of them and pulling them apart. Hendrik released her hand before he would wrench her arm, anger surging in his breast as he saw her recede away, her arms outstretched, dismay on her face.

“You cannae hurt him!” she cried.

Markus growled. “You have no idea how furious I am that that is true.” He walked slowly around Elvan’s coils. “He will simply be relocated to a different cell until we leave for the library. A cold, dark, lonely cell. With maybe a few rats thrown in for effect. While _you_ will be left in my care.” Hendrik felt sick. He didn’t care what happened to him, but—

“Don’t worry,” Elvan said, “he’s still forbidden to touch you.” Markus backhanded the sherpent in the eye. “OW! Well, it’s _true_!”

Relief, however tentative, flowed through Hendrik. Relief and something else. “Get on with it, then,” he said. “I am exhausted with your hollow posturing, Markus. You are still a boy of fourteen, angry and jealous, and I would just as soon have done with all of this so that I no longer need to endure your presence.” Markus spluttered, turning and striding toward the knight, arm raised to strike.

Elvan pushed him back. “You can’t touch him either,” the sherpent said, and Markus went red with rage.

“Beatrice,” Hendrik called, “look at me.” She turned her attention from Markus’ tantrum and met his eyes. His heart filled with the sight of her, the _fact_ of her. He knew she had the strength of mind, of heart, of spirit to face whatever evil lay ahead. He knew this was her journey and there was nothing he could do to change it now. He knew that loss was possible, even likely. And it was worth the risk. “I love you,” he said.

Her eyes went glassy, and an anguished smile slipped across her face. “I love you, too,” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Elvan released her and began slithering toward the door with Hendrik in tow. Beatrice reached for him, but Markus held her back by one arm so that her fingers just brushed Hendrik’s as he passed. He held her gaze a few more precious seconds, and then she was out of sight.


	37. Chapter 37

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 7:15AM _

Alizarin

Something landed on Alizarin’s head. What idiot was throwing rocks in the river at a time like this? Didn’t they know there was a siege on? Well, he’d give them a scare, alright. They’d shit themselves at the sight of him rising out of the river. Grinning madly, he broke the surface of the water and towered over the shoreline, water cascading off him like the falls to the west. His grin died on his reptilian lips.

“Oh. It’s you.”

A hood stood peering up at him through his green cowl mask. “What did you think, you colossal buffoon? Surely you didn’t miss the Dark Lady’s signal.”

“Of course not. I just didn’t know when you’d be showing up with details.” The coralotl picked one of his rows of teeth absently with a razor-sharp claw. “That was fast, actually.”

The hood nodded, his cape bobbing with his movement. “True enough. Turns out the good guys are planning to try to take the exit tunnel, and all the Dark Lady’s targets are heading into different parts of the battle. I couldn’t believe my luck at their strategy session this morning.”

“I don’t give a tuna’s ass what that army is doing,” Alizarin scoffed. “Just tell me where I can find that runt of a wizard.”

“Testy! No appreciation for my spying skills, eh? I even took off my hood for this!”

“Still not caring.”

“Fine. She’s going to be attempting to storm the shelf of land where the exit tunnels come out, right between the river and the cliff face. You won’t even have to go over land—just follow the river around the plateau.” The hood twirled its axe in his hand. “You’re the last one to be told. Your escape dragon is on high alert, waiting for the signal.” He pulled a small object from the inside of his glove and held it up for the coralotl to examine.

Alizarin squinted. “Is that a whistle?”

“Dragon whistle. Tuned specifically for a great dragon. Only damn beast big enough to haul your giant ass out of here.”

“I’m sorry,” Alizarin said, taking the whistle from the hood, “did you say I was the last one to get the Dark Lady’s instruction?”

The hood nodded again. “That means my work here is done. Gonna go sit back and watch the carnage.”

“Carnage. Interesting choice of words,” the coralotl said, then opened his jaws and snapped the insolent spy up in his serrated teeth. He crunched once, twice, then swallowed, blood dripping from his jaws. “Huh. I still prefer seafood,” he muttered, then submerged beneath the surface of the river.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 7:30AM _

Sesquipedalian

“Ready?” Lars asked.

Sesqui tugged at his whiskers. How had he let Lars talk him into this? “Oh, dear. I really don’t like this, you know.”

“I know. But just remember it’s for Beatrice.” Lars checked for the umpteenth time to make sure the Calamus flute was secured to his back. “You’re sure it’s not visible even when I’m upside down?” he asked.

“As long as your tunic stays in your belt,” the dragon answered. “Then the bottom part flops down over your back and gives double coverage.”

“Okay.” Lars tipped his face up toward the professaurus. “Come on. Hit me.”

Sesqui quailed inwardly and wrung his hands. “Oh, dear.”

“Come _on_. We don’t have much time. It has to be convincing.”

“Oh…well, I…” He frowned. “Turn your head. I don’t want to put out your eye.” Lars complied, and Sesqui curled his claw into a fist and struck.

“AUGH!” Lars flew five feet through the air before landing hard on his shoulder in the mud.

“Oh! Oh, dear!” cried Sesqui, running to his friend’s side, guilt gripping his heart. “I’m so, so sorry. Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!”

The young scholar pushed himself up, wiping tears. “No. It’s good. It’s okay, that was perfect. Am I bleeding? I hope I’m bleeding.” He looked up at the dragon, revealing a nasty split across his cheekbone.

“Yes, you’re bleeding,” he said. “And it won’t be more than a moment before the whole side of your face is purple.”

“Perfect!” Lars cried with a huge grin. “Now we can do this! For Beatrice!” he said.

The dragon dipped his head. “Yes, For Beatrice,” he said. But really, though he truly liked Beatrice, he was doing this for Lars.

“Now pick me up and let’s go.”

Sesqui lifted Lars, gently laid him over his narrow shoulder, and took a deep breath. As much as he had dreaded having to assault his friend, he was far more afraid of what came next. Steeling his courage, he broke into a trot and made his way out of the covert hollow in the foothills and down toward the monster horde gathered on the east side of the bridge.

A small troop of grublins were the first to spot him and he sent up a little prayer to Yggdrasil as he reached them. “What’cha got there, fella?” one of the little green creatures asked, his ears twitching in curiosity.

“He’s _mine!_ ” the professaurus snarled, baring his teeth.

The grublin rolled backward, its blue tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. His comrades shook their swords at the dragon. “What’s the big idea?” one of them shouted.

Sesqui raised a claw. “I found him and I knocked him down and he’s _mine_. Leave me alone.”

“Settle down. No one wants to steal your dinner. We was just curious is all.” A handful of the monsters gathered around.

“It is a human, isn’t it?”

“Where’d ‘ya get it?”

“It’s kinda scrawny.”

Sesqui whipped his tail back and forth in what he hoped was a threatening manner. “He wandered away from the enemy camp. Probably a spy.”

That sent them into a kind of madcap frenzy, jumping up and down and from foot to foot. “Ooh! A spy! What’cha gonna do with him?”

“You should take him to Zeke.”

“Zeke’ll know what to do with him.”

“He’s _mine_ ,” the dragon reminded them. “I’m not sharing.”

The grublins’ tone changed to conciliatory. “Oh, he won’t want to take him from you. But he should probably know what the human knows.”

“Who’s Zeke?” Sesqui asked.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘Who’s Zeke?’” one of them said. “How can you not know who Zeke is?”

Sesqui’s heart jumped into his mouth. _Think! Think! Think!_ “Well…the truth is…my troop is on the other end of the field. I…uh…well, I…”

Another one of them nodded, his unusually large ears wiggling in understanding. “Oh, I see,” he said. “You were gonna desert, weren’t you.”

_Oh Yggdrasil! Oh Yggdrasil! Oh Yggdrasil!_

“I don’t blame you,” big-ears said. “We’ve been here for two weeks and we’re all bored to tears!” A babble of assent went up from the fidgety creatures. “But think about this! You bring that spy to Zeke, and you’ll be a hero!”

Relief flooded through the dragon. He could only imagine what Lars must be feeling right now. “Where would I find this Zeke?”

One of the little creatures threw his hand in the air, dropping his sword in the process. “Ooh! Ooh! I can take you to him! He’s over there.” He pointed wildly across the bridge. Sesqui couldn’t believe his luck. He had fully expected the grublin to want to take him the complete opposite direction.

“ _Fine_ ,” the dragon growled. “But once Zeke talks to him, _I_ get to eat him.”

“Sure, sure,” his guide assured him and, since there was no way the little monster would be able to reach the dragon’s hand, it caught hold of the end of his tail and skittered off toward the bridge. Sesqui wove his way among the gathered monsters: jargons, hoods, rottontails, orcs and raven lunatics, then over the bridge and through another gauntlet of massed troops much like the others with a few squads of drackymas, fandangows, and knights errant peppered throughout. A single master moosifer stood among the hundreds and hundreds of monsters, as still as a statue, and Sesqui tried not to stare. Lots of eyes glanced up at the out-of-place professaurus and his human cargo as they passed, but no one said a word. Maybe it was the cheerful presence of the ridiculous little grublin leading him by the tail that somehow diverted suspicion. Sesqui couldn’t afford to think too much about it. They were in deep now, and there was no going back.

Their path descended through a copse of trees and out into a clearing hemmed in on two sides by a cliff, and the third by the river. The sound of the waterfall dropping from the field now above them filled the air, partially masking the noises of the gathered troops. Directly in front of them was a small cabin built slightly above ground on fieldstone pillars. From his height, Sesqui could see figures through the windows, though he couldn’t be sure what sort of figures they were. Regardless, whoever Zeke was, he would have to come out to meet them—Sesqui would take up most of the space in the cabin just by himself.

The grublin seemed to have figured this out on his own, and relinquished Sesqui’s tail to trip up the front steps and bang on the door. “Zeke? Hey! Zeke!”

The door slammed outward, sending the grublin flying. “Who’s askin’?” came a gravelly voice, dripping with annoyance. The voice was followed onto the front porch by a six-foot wild boar in a green tunic, a deadly-sharp spear slung casually over his shoulder. His tiny eyes lit on Sesqui and a deep scowl darkened his already menacing features. “Tha’ fuck?” he said.

Sesqui mustered his most threatening demeanor. He poked a sharp claw into the center of the Orc’s chest. “Listen! I’m gonna tell you straight, this is _my_ human and I’m _not_ sharing. But the pesky grublin you just launched said I oughtta tell you he’s a spy in case you wanted to check him out before I eat him.”

Zeke looked down at Sesqui’s finger. “Excuse me. Who the fuck do you think you are, exactly?”

“I’m the _dragon_ who just brought you an enemy spy. But I want guarantees no one gets to eat him but me. Or I’m outta here.” He growled for good measure, and then immediately wondered if it had been too much.

“Hmm.” The orc took Sesqui’s claw in his forefinger and thumb and pushed it aside. “Heliodorian?” he asked, peering up at Lars’ unmoving form.

“Sniflheim, I think,” the dragon replied, turning sideways so Zeke could see the boy. “Way blonde. Smells like fish.”

Zeke sniffed the air, then raised the butt of his spear and lifted Lars’ head. “They were the last to arrive,” the orc said, letting Lars’ head drop again. “Sure he’s not just a deserter?”

Sesqui shrugged, causing Lars’s feet to swing back and forth. “Could be. Don’t really care. Dinner either way. _My._ Dinner.” He raised a claw to poke Zeke in the chest again, but thought better of it.

“Yours. I get it. I’ll bring him inside until he’s conscious, interrogate him, beat him unconscious again, and give him back to you.”

“He stays with me. We’ll just sit outside your cabin ‘til he wakes up.”

“Suit yourself,” Zeke said. “Just don’t get in anybody’s way.” The orc ambled back through the door into the little house.

Breathing again, Sesqui skirted the exterior of the structure and found a narrow patch of grass between the cliff face and the building just large enough for him to sit. He laid Lars on the ground with his head toward Sesqui’s knee, and stifled a concerned exclamation when he saw that the left side of the boy’s face was now mostly purple from the earlier blow. Well, at least it had convinced Zeke. He sighed. “You okay?” he whispered.

Lars’ hand twitched and Sesqui glanced down to see a brief thumbs up before the boy’s hand went limp again. The dragon slid down against the rock and sighed. Nothing to do now but wait.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 8:00AM _

Rab

Rab smiled as he hiked out to the Altar of Souls for his morning prayer and meditation, grateful that the new walls had been built in such a way as to keep the monster hordes from occupying the peaceful, mountainous back yard of the castle. A dozen archers surveyed the area from the rear towers to discourage flying creatures from trying to sneak in. He knew his grandson was not happy at his insistence on leaving the castle proper every day, but there were some arguments the boy knew he couldn’t win.

His stomach rumbled. Breakfast had been less than satisfying, of course. But Rab just couldn’t eat his full share when that growing girl needed sustenance, especially when she’d been so upset by the earthquake. She was a little hellion, that sister of Erik’s, but even so he couldn’t help but think she reminded him a bit of Eleanor when she was that age.

He was no longer surprised that thinking of his daughter after all these years still hurt. It was a grief he would carry to his own grave, he knew. But thank Yggdrasil his grandson had come back to him! Few days passed when he didn’t see Eleanor alive and well in an expression here or an action there as El prepared to become the new ruler of Dundrasil. Yes. Gratitude and hope. That’s what he would focus on as he went through the morning ritual he’d done every day since Grand Master Pang had taught it to him in his youth.

He emerged from the short mountain tunnel below the altar and stopped. A mounted horseman was standing near the stone structure, partially obscured by one of the ornamental trees. How on Erdrea could a horse have gotten out here—they certainly couldn’t fly. Had El sent one of the soldiers out to chaperone him? No. His grandson knew all too well how much that would royally piss him off.

The hair on the back of his neck rose. There was something off about that rider. Something dark. He gripped his staff, grateful it was as much heavy wand as it was walking stick.

“Who’s there?” he called out. “Ye dinnae belong out here!”

A rasping laugh drifted down the hill. “Do I not, Lord Robert?” The horse tramped in place before circling the tree and emerging into the open.

Rab scowled and raised his weapon as the dark dullahan came into view, its hideous shield fixing him with its baleful glare. He would never make it back to the safety of the castle walls; fighting was his only option. The rod sent out a faint mist, enveloping the old king in protection against any illusion or sleep his enemy might breathe out. “Who are ye? What are ye doing here?”

“I came to do a job. And finish an old one.”

“What are ye on about, ye numpty? What job?”

The headless hunter’s shield grinned wide, the evil glow of its eyes visible even in the morning sunlight. “Why, to kill you, Lord Robert.”

“If I don’t kill ye first,” Rab said.

“Ha! You’re an old man. Hell, you were an old man already when I saw you last. And that was nearly two decades ago!” The creature’s body doubled forward as its shield let loose a hideous laugh.

Fear rippled through Rab’s gut as a nightmarish memory floated to the surface. “Ye were there. That night.” A whole troop of headless hunters and dark dullahan pounding through the panic-filled streets of Dundrasil.

“More than there. I led Mordegon’s elite hunters with one mission and one mission alone. To kill your grandson!”

“Aye, and ye failed, ye bastard!” Rab cried, brandishing his staff.

At last the grin fell away from the black shield and a scowl replaced it. “A fact I intend to remedy as soon as I kill you,” he growled. “And then it will be a complete set.”

“How’s that, now?”

“Grandfather, mother, child!”

Ice shot down Rab’s spine, followed immediately by the fire of rage surging from his gut through his extremities. “You…” His jaw clenched and he lifted the supreme sage’s staff, the unspoken words of _pearly gates_ beginning to form themselves in his heart and head. “You killed my Eleanor.”

The Headless Honcho readied his morning star. “And I _enjoyed_ it,” he rasped.

With a guttural cry, Rab stabbed at the air with his arms in a tightly controlled motion and opened a rift to the great beyond.


	38. Chapter 38

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 8:00AM _

Indignus

It had proven far more difficult for Indignus to make his way to the castle wall than it had to leap from the first forest to the Drasilian plateau. The earthquake had distracted everyone who should have been monitoring the skies at the moment he jumped, but when it ended, he had to believe all eyes would be back on the mountain paths that connected the Altar of Souls to the castle proper. And it was no small task for a sixteen-foot, pale green giant to stay hidden behind rocks and trees, much less cross at least one section of open ground. Nearly an hour elapsed before he found shelter against the newly masoned stone in the shadow of an ancient oak. Should anyone look directly down from the wall-walk he might still be spotted, but he hoped the color of his skin would blend with the spring leaves.

Shortly after he stopped, one of the great, wooden doors in the wall creaked open, and Robert, Lord Regent of Dundrasil, slipped into the cool morning to make his way to his place of daily prayer. Indignus held his breath until the old man disappeared around the first bend, secretly envying the Headless Honcho for the fact that his quarry would be walking right to him. How was the giant to reach Erik? The most honorable thing would be to simply break down the doors into the castle and demand a duel. But in this case, he knew that honorable meant stupid and he’d be dead long before he even laid eyes on the thief. Then again, what other option did he have? He could simply grab the first human he could get his hands on and offer an exchange—their life for a fair fight with Erik. Yes, actually, that would work. He pressed his back against the wall and slid step by sideways step toward the doorway.

A creak stopped him short and he listened intently. One of the gates was opening again. Could it be that Calasmos would deliver his hostage directly into his hand without any effort on his part? How wonderful! He turned to the left to see a young girl with a long, blue braid creeping through the portal, her head darting this way and that. The gate closed with a barely-audible thump and the girl made ready to run toward a small clump of bushes a few feet from the wall. She glanced back over her shoulder and then up at the wall and right into Indignus’ eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed. “Uncle Rab said there weren’t any monsters out here!”

“Well obviously—”

“SHHH! If I get caught out here again, I’m in deep shit!”

Indignus raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s already the case?” he whispered back, rippling his chest muscles.

The girl scoffed. “You don’t scare me,” she whispered. “I was raised by bloodthirsty marauders in the north sea.” She looked back over her shoulder again. “Look, if you pretend you didn’t see me, I’ll pretend I didn’t see you.”

Incredulous, the giant whispered, “You _do_ realize I’m the enemy, right? I could attack and kill everyone in that castle.”

She laughed, then stifled herself and glanced up at the wall. “You _do_ realize that the Luminary lives here, right? You wouldn’t get past the courtyard.”

“What if I had a hostage?” he hissed.

“You’d have to catch me first, and I wouldn’t lay odds on that.”

Who the hell was this child? Indignus scowled, impatience ticking upward toward anger. “I could crush you where you stand,” he said, forgetting to whisper.

“SHHH!” She jabbed her fists into her sides. “Just forget you saw me and I won’t have to get my brother out here to kick your ass in five seconds flat.”

“And just who, exactly, is your brother?” the giant growled, readying to snatch the obnoxious brat from the ground.

“His name is Erik, and he’s—”

Indignus lunged and lifted the girl by her ankle, dangling her ten feet above the ground.

“HEY! Put me _down_ , asshole!” she shrieked. “I’m gonna call my brother!”

“By all means,” the giant said. “Call your brother.”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 8:00AM _

Veronica

Veronica had to hand it to Lars. The kid was seriously smart: observant, logical, and fucking dedicated to this Beatrice woman, whoever she was. He’d been exactly right about the land bridge—perfect for getting their troop of 300 soldiers and one badass wizard onto the west side of the river. He’d been right about the shelf along the river that would allow them to reach the otherwise cut-off piece of land that held the exit to the old escape tunnel. They could walk six abreast between the rising cliffs and the four-foot drop to the water. The only real issue would be how to get the soldiers onto the field quickly enough to fully engage without just being picked off by archers as they advanced. That was where she came in.

The river rushing by below provided excellent sound cover, even for armed and armored men marching over hard-packed, rocky soil, but Don Mateo halted his troop well south of the short rise on the edge of their destination. He signaled for stealth, and he, Veronica and the first group of six moved as silently as they could to within ten yards of the entry point. Row by row, the rest of the troop followed, no one moving until the previous row had come to a halt. Archers provided cover, just in case any flying enemies might veer south beyond the battlefield and spot them. When everyone was in position, the signal traveled from the rear of the group up to the front.

Veronica could see the front line of Sir Hugh and Jade’s battalion at the edge of the allied camp. The monster army had noticed, too, and the usually disorganized rabble appeared to be organizing into ranks. But that was to be expected. _Her_ targets, hopefully, were not. Don Mateo removed a small mirror from his hip pouch and held it toward Sir Hugh, tipping it up and down to catch the morning sunlight now streaming over the eastern hills. In answer, the standard of Heliodor to Hugh’s left was raised and lowered three times in quick succession. They were ready.

The general nodded to the green-polka-dot-clad sorceress and she gave him a victory sign with her left hand, raising her aurora staff in her right. With a grin of sheer confidence, she clambered onto an outcropping of rock protruding from the cliff side above the first row of soldiers. From that vantage point, she could see the whole of the field west of the bridge, which meant she could now be seen by the enemy. The time was now. She raised her staff and pointed it toward the master moosifer in the center of the horde below.

“ _KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-BOOMLE_!” she shouted, and a massive burst of magical energy shot forth from the pink crystal at the head of her weapon. An explosion rent the still morning air, toppling the moosifer and sending the massed monsters into a panicked frenzy. At once, fully half of the enemy troops vanished. Mission accomplished!

Before the echoes of the blast even began to die away, Don Mateo shouted the advance and the Valorian soldiers launched themselves row by row onto the field below. The small force would still be outnumbered almost two to one, but as soon as the last soldier passed onto the field, Veronica would join them, continuing to wreak havoc and confusion with her spells and whip. She fired off another _kaboomle_ at the grounded moosifer before clambering back down to the pass.

A disturbance in the river below her pulled her attention. It looked as though the water had begun to boil just upstream from where she stood. What on Erdrea? Raising her staff again, she leaned over the edge of the rocky shelf, preparing to quickly obliterate whatever might raise its ugly head from under the surface.

Its head never surfaced. Just a claw, which wrapped around the diminutive wizard’s ankle and yanked her into the icy water without a sound.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 8:15AM _

Erik

“What the hell…?” Erik’s head snapped toward the south window at the sound of an explosion. El leapt to his feet and tore off toward the stairs, leaving his bread unfinished. “Wait!” Erik slammed down the last swallow of coffee, gagging as it burned his throat. He ran to the armory, slung his metal king goomerang over his back, and snatched up his hunter’s moon. Feeling much better fully armed, he jogged down the stairs, several of the palace guards joining him in his haste toward the wall.

Out in the courtyard men sprinted to the southeast tower and up the stairs to the ramparts. “Are we under attack?” someone shouted.

“I think it was in the field below!” someone else replied.

“Puerto Valor is on the move!” came a cry from the battlements. “And Heliodor!”

A thrill of hope went through Erik. He knew only one obnoxious small-fry capable of creating such explosive chaos. Veronica was out there! But where had El gone? He scanned the wall for any sign of his beloved Luminary but couldn’t find him. He wasn’t doing anything rash was he? Erik doubled back toward the keep. “Have you seen the prince?” he asked a passing soldier.

“No, Sir,” came the reply.

 _Sir._ _Ick._ That was something he would never get used to.

A second explosion and the sounds of shouting and hard fighting echoed up over the walls. What was the plan? Surely they weren’t taking on the whole enemy force, were they? If so, he, Rab, and El ought to be discussing how to lend support. Where the _hell_ had he gone?

“ERIK! Ehhhhhhh-RIIIIIIIIICK!”

Mia? What was her problem now? He did _not_ have time for this!

“HELP!”

It sounded like it was coming from outside the rear gates. Had that idiot gone outside again without asking? Was she really in trouble? Or just picking a really crappy time to be nine?

“OW! That _hurts_ , asshole!”

 _Shit._ All thoughts of the battle below instantly forgotten, Erik sprinted for the doors to the mountain path. He lifted the latch and shoved with his shoulder, pulling his metal king goomerang from his back. Doubly armed, he stepped onto the path beyond the supposedly superfluous barrier and froze.

Mia dangled upside down by her ankle, which was held in a vice grip by a green-skinned giant. A loss leader. How the hell had it gotten in here?

“Erik! Get me down!”

The giant lowered his arm and tossed the squirming girl into a nearby cluster of bushes. “Run along, little one,” the giant said. “You’re no longer needed.” He drew his enormous swallowtail blade and brandished it before him.

“Mia, get out of here,” Erik shouted, dropping into a semi-crouch, readying his dual weapons.

“Mia. That is a name I will remember. Truly your sister is an astonishing human being.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wrong. But how…?”

The young girl scrambled out of the bushes and flew at the giant, landing a sharp kick on his booted foot. “Asshole!” she shrieked. “You leave my brother alone!”

Oh for Yggdrasil’s sake. “Mia, get the hell out! Now!”

Mia actually growled at the monster before scampering back toward the gate. “Kick his ass!” she shouted back.

“NOW!” Relief cascaded through him when he heard the gate thud shut. A loss leader he could handle. A loss leader with his kid sister underfoot? They’d both be dead in minutes. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded, his mood as bristling as his hair.

To his surprise, the giant actually gave him a half bow. “I am Indignus of Gallopolis. I have come to wipe you off the face of Erdrea.”

Erik laughed. “Direct. Nice. But I might have something to say about that.”

“I hope you do. For I have heard that, despite your chosen profession, you are a man of great honor. And it is honor that I value above all else.”

Was this just idle talk to make Erik let down his guard? It wouldn’t work—the thief had _plenty_ of experience with treacherously silver-tongued bastards. “Because there’s so much honor in bullying an nine-year-old girl a tenth your size,” he said.

The giant inclined his head. “Conceded. But come now, we both know there are times in which rules must be bent or even broken for a greater end. And your demise is part of a grand scheme beyond your reckoning. It heralds a new age.”

“Oh no. We just _started_ a new age and I _like_ this one. Whatever evil you’re trying to usher in? It ends right here.”

“Or you do,” Indignus replied. “Shall we find out which?”

The blue-haired thief clenched his jaw. “Let’s.”


	39. Chapter 39

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 8:30AM _

Lars

No amount of acting prowess could have prevented Lars from jumping at the sound of the explosion. He stilled himself again, forcing himself to wait until the battle was well and truly underway. The sound of shouting, running feet and twanging bows escalated until it drowned out the nearby waterfall. He heard thumping in the cabin, followed by the front door slamming several times. Zeke shouted commands to his colonels, indistinct over the chaotic din. As he’d hoped, all the troops that had gathered this far toward the river and cliff now charged off toward the incoming attackers.

“Is it time?” Sesqui asked as Lars pushed himself up to sitting.

“Yes.” The boy stood and turned his back to the cabin, leaning into the wood. “Princess Jade said the door is opened by a hidden trigger somewhere right around here.” He pulled off his boot and fished his dagger from the top of his hose by his knee. Stepping back into the shoe, he began running his fingers along the stone, digging into tiny crevasses, poking at protrusions. Sesqui lent his claws to the search.

“But where does it open?” the dragon asked.

Lars glanced down. “Right about where we’re standing,” he replied. “Jade wasn’t entirely sure—she was only five when she last went through the tunnel, and in the other direction. The only reason she knew about the trigger was from stories Lord Robert told her. I just hope she’s right, or we’re screwed.”

Sesqui pulled at his whiskers. “Oh, oh I hope that doesn’t happen.”

“It won’t,” Lars insisted. “It can’t.” Continuing to poke and prod at the cliff face, he said, “Just remember: when that door opens, I go in first. I have to believe there are going be a whole lot of Drasilian soldiers on the other side, and they’re not going to be glad to see you.”

Sesqui stifled another worried exclamation and kept tapping the stone.

“Anything?” the boy asked, one ear on the uproar just on the other side of the little wooden house.

“No—wait.” The dragon scratched into a narrow fissure, scratched again. “Look. This one goes deep. Do you see anything in there?”

Lars pushed his friend aside and peered into the dark recess. “Not enough light back here,” he said.

Raising his claw, the professaurus muttered a few arcane words and a tiny ball of flame appeared above his finger tips. Lars goggled.

“You…you know fire magic? Why…didn’t you…?”

Sesqui hung his head. “I know a couple of spells, sort of,” he said, “but I’m really quite terrible at them. So I just don’t say anything about it.”

Poor dragon. So little self-confidence! That was something he’d have to really help his friend with if they ever survived this mess. Then again, who was he to talk? He was still utterly convinced Beatrice’s being abducted was entirely his own fault. “Hold that over here.” The dragon brought the little light source to the opening of the fissure. “There’s something metal down in there,” the boy said, excitement quickening his pulse. He inserted the tip of his dagger into the recess until it made contact with something solid. With a grunt, he shoved it, and was rewarded with a click audible enough to be heard above the din.

The ground beneath their feet began to vibrate, then shift, and the two friends backed through the narrow alley between the cliff and cabin. The lower two feet of the stone face receded into the wall, while the grass where they had just been standing tore open and the earth lowered by stages, becoming a set of five-foot-wide steps that descended toward the cliff—no, into and under the cliff. Holding up a hand to his friend, Lars dropped down onto the third tread and headed down an expertly carved and highly finished stairway. The exterior light quickly faded with each step. Truthfully, he was surprised. He had expected to be met almost immediately on the other side of the door by armed-to-the-teeth Drasilians. He scampered back up and popped his head above ground.

“Sesqui, come on. I need your light.”

“Oh, oh but don’t you think that’s not such a good idea?”

“Just stay behind me,” Lars said.

“What if someone notices the stairs and comes down after us?”

“Let’s just hope that the battle keeps everyone too distracted to even remember we were here. Come on.”

The dragon shuffled down the steps, ducking his head under the cliff wall. “This is awfully narrow,” he said. “And the ceilings…”

“Well, it was built for humans. I’m just happy you can fit at all. I would hate to have to leave you behind.” He reached a hand upward and took Sesqui’s claw. “Thanks for coming with me,” he said, squeezing.

“You’re welcome,” the dragon answered, then renewed his fire spell, filling the tunnel with light.

Lars gave a low whistle. Not only was the tunnel well-made, it was also beautiful. The walls and ceiling were carved with extensive murals depicting nature, the World Tree, the people of Dundrasil. The stairs were tiled in exquisite colored stone that reflected the light in rainbow patterns on the other surfaces. “Who does this in an emergency exit tunnel?” he said.

“True artisans,” the dragon replied, his voice reverent.

The steps continued into complete darkness below, and Lars wondered just how much further they would descend before the passage leveled out. Of course they would have to go deep enough to get under the river. But how deep was that?

“Don’t take another step.” A disembodied voice from somewhere below them. “We’ve an arrow aimed at your chest and another at the dragon’s head.”

Lars raised his hands and dropped his dagger. It landed with an echoing clang on the tile. “We’re part of Sir Aldrich’s force,” he said. “We have a critical message for the Luminary.”

A murmur drifted up to them, an indistinct conversation.

“Who’s the dragon?” came a new voice, edged with suspicion.

“Please,” Lars said, urgency raising his volume and pitch. “I’m Lars of Sniflheim. This is Sesquipedalian of Gallopolis—he’s my friend and the only reason I was able to sneak through the enemy hoard to get to the tunnel. Princess Jade of Heliodor and her friends sent me. You have to believe us! We have to see the Luminary!”

Torchlight filled the tunnel, and a pair of heavily armored soldiers appeared maybe forty feet below them where the stairs ended. “Alright, come with me,” said the owner of the first voice, lowering his bow. He turned to his compatriot. “Close the exit,” he said.

“As soon as the dragon goes by,” the other man growled. “No way anything is fitting past him.”

Relief flooded through Lars and he near ran down the steps, forgetting even to grab his dagger from the stone. He skidded onto the landing, his elation held in check by the fact that this was far from over. “We need to hurry!” he said. “Terrible, terrible things are going to happen if the Luminary doesn’t help!”

The soldier pulled off his helmet, releasing his thick, dark hair. “Settle down, Lars of Sniflheim,” he said, kindness in his voice and eyes. “We will make all haste. Just know that it is a long way up to the plateau from here. You’ll not want to rush it or you’ll collapse from exhaustion before you can deliver your message.”

Lars didn’t care what this man thought. If he had to, he’d run straight up a mountain to get to the Luminary. Too much depended on this!

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 8:45AM _

Veronica

Steam rose from Veronica’s clothes and hair as the morning sun warmed and dried her after her unwanted dunking in the river. But it was nothing compared to the steam coming out of her ears as she stood, feet planted apart, hands on her hips, staring bloody murder at the slightly-scorched coralotl who faced her. Not only had he nearly drowned her (and thank Yggdrasil that fire magic worked under water), but she’d lost her favorite green hat _and_ one of her shoes to the rushing current. With her luck, they were already halfway to fucking Cobblestone. And after she’d managed to blast herself onto the shore with a well-aimed _kaboomle_ spell, this asshole pelted her with _kacrackle_ , which ironically just succeeded in making her blood boil.

She’d managed to hang onto her heavy wand, which was a good thing, as she’d needed the extra oomph to get out of his grasp before her lungs filled with water. Even so, the effect of her _kafrizzle_ spells was severely diminished by their fluid surroundings, and she wasn’t sure how much damage she’d actually done the giant bully. He, on the other hand, had managed to rake his claws quite nastily across her back and legs as she’d flown past him out of the water.

With her back pressed against the boulders a mere five yards from the river’s edge, Veronica choked down a panacea, relief flooding through her along with healing. It didn’t do the full job, but it was something, and she only had two more on her. She hadn’t expected to be singled out by something this deadly. Where had he even come from? And why?

She loosed her uber gringham whip and prepared to unleash _twin dragon lash_ as soon as he poked his giant, coral-encrusted head out of the water.

A split second later, the sea dragon leapt up and slashed at her with its claws three times in close succession. Veronica howled as its sharp digits raked across her arms and chest, then clenched her teeth and immediately lambasted him with her whip, drawing a strikingly similar howl from her adversary.

“WILL YOU JUST DIE ALREADY!” he shouted, throwing himself backward to the opposite bank.

“YOU FIRST!” she screamed back, coiling her weapon with a flourish. “I’m not the one who started this all off with a cheap shot, you fucking coward!”

“Coward? I’m the mighty Alizarin, future ruler of all of Erdrea’s seas!”

“And I’m the queen of fucking Dundrasil!” she snapped. “What the hell do you want?”

“You haven’t figured that out yet? I’m here to kill you. Then I get unlimited access to the great buffet under the sea!”

Veronica scowled even more deeply. “Are you saying someone put out a hit on me with a reward of fucking _seafood_?!?” She brandished her staff and shouted, “ _Kaboomle!”_ knocking the dragon out of the water with a massive explosion.

Alizarin flipped in midair and dove down into the river, only to reemerge right in front of Veronica and catch her with its brutal claws yet again. She responded with another _twin dragon lash_ , knocking him back into the drink. While he was temporarily out of her face, she tried scrambling up the boulders to get out of his range, but to no avail. Tension rising, she swallowed another panacea, knowing full well it wouldn’t come close to providing the healing her body desperately needed. If she couldn’t take him out with the next attack, there was a good chance he’d send her soul straight back to the World Tree before she could do anything about it.

What to do? He didn’t look as though he was in that bad of a shape even with all her formidable damage-dealing. Would one more _kafrizzle_ do it? _Kaboomle? Twin dragon lash?_ No. This called for _magic burst._ It was the only option sure to completely incapacitate if not kill him. As soon as he surfaced again.

She stilled her body and mind, preparing to cast her most devastating spell at the expense of all her power. In her silence, she caught the subtle change in the flow of the river as Alizarin’s head broke the surface. Crossing her arms in front of her, she focused all her magical energy into the center of her chest, then slashed outward and down, the unseen force of her power raising her off the ground. As she hovered a foot in the air, the great sea dragon rose before her, claws bared, ready to strike. But before he could move, she unleashed a massive burst of irresistible force right into the monster’s face.

Alizarin hurled backward, his body flying ass over tea kettle to slam into the rocks above the opposite bank of the river. He lay there, unmoving, and Veronica waited for his body to dissolve into smoke at his death. But it didn’t happen.

“HOW DID YOU SURVIVE THAT?” she screamed in incredulous rage.

Alizarin didn’t answer. Likely he couldn’t. Surely she could just throw a pebble at him and it would end him at this point. But she was completely out of magic energy and her whip wouldn’t reach that far. She reached into her pouch for an elfin elixir, but as she did so, the dragon’s hand twitched, then drew something out of a crevasse in his coral-armored body and held it to his gaping mouth. A high-pitched whistle sounded over the rushing river and a moment later, a great dragon swooped down from the hills behind Veronica and snatched up the coralotl in its talons.

The diminutive wizard marveled that any winged creature was large enough to bear that much weight, but seemingly without effort, the enormous golden beast carried Alizarin aloft, banked south in a wide arc, and disappeared to the west over the foothills.

“What the fuck just happened?” she wondered aloud, staring after them. “Ugh. Now I have to walk all the way back to the fucking battle. WITH ONLY ONE SHOE!” she added in a shriek toward the west. At least her magical energy was restored. Time to go work out her rage on some evil assholes further north.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 8:45AM _

Erik

“I still don’t understand why you have to kill me,” Erik called from behind a tree. His chest heaved with exertion, as much from the protracted battle as from the pain that continued to radiate upward from the bloody tear across his midsection. The salt in his sweat continually dripped exquisite agony into the wound, causing it to throb. He’d doffed his shirt and done his best to staunch the bleeding with it as a makeshift bandage, but haste had made his first aid sloppy at best. One lucky hit from the guy, and what should have been a pretty quick battle had dragged on for half an hour already.

“You stand between the Luminary and the Dark One,” Indignus replied.

Another quick breath, and Erik leapt out from behind the barrier and let fly his twin boomerangs, reveling in the feeling of his muscled arms snapping through the air, the sharp cry of the loss leader as first one weapon and then the other hit its mark, and then the impact of their grips against his waiting palms.

The giant slashed downward with his cruel swallowtail blade aflame, and Erik dodged, diving to the ground and rolling back up into a sprint toward another tree.

“This is hardly an honorable battle,” Indignus grumbled.

“There’s no honor in getting killed in some grudge match when other people are counting on you,” the thief said.

“If you speak of the little sister, I can understand that. But of the Luminary? I would think that Yggdrasil’s chosen could stand on his own two feet.”

Did this guy ever stop talking? “He’s stronger than anyone I know, but none of us was ever meant to be alone.” Of course, as long as he _kept_ talking, Erik could tell his exact position. Could he pull off a _divide_ before the big brute got in close? He crouched low, got ready to shuffle his feet, then went through the motions to create two energy doppelgangers of himself. He could feel them, semi-corporeal, hovering to his left and his right. Now to end this ridiculous battle with a _double down_.

He ducked back into the open, weapons poised, but Indignus had anticipated his entrance and lunged forward, slicing upward and catching the thief in the chest, tearing a shallow gash from sternum to chin and knocking him flat on his backside. The doppelgangers vanished and Erik swallowed an epithet, rolling back on his shoulders and pushing into a handstand against his boomerangs, then flipping back onto his feet and diving to the right behind the cover of a dense shrub.

 _Not good. Not. Good._ He needed to end this now, or he’d be the one ended. Gritting his teeth against the new and improved anguish, he went back into a shallow squat, shifting his weight, regenerating his invisible alter egos. _I got one shot at this._ He glanced up to where the World Tree hovered in the distance. _Cut me a break, willya?_ There was no honor in dying in some grudge match when there were people counting on him, right? He closed his eyes, focused his breath, and crouched.

With a cry, he sprang up and out of the shrub, startling Indignus. He and his others let loose their weapons, his whole body somehow connected to their flight, then leapt into the air to catch them and send them singing out a second time with breathtaking momentum. All twelve boomerangs, corporeal and mystical, hit their marks, and Indignus howled in agony, careening backward, his blade flying from his hand.

Erik staggered to the side and crashed to the ground, his strength spent, pain radiating through his whole body. Through his blurring vision, he saw the loss leader reach to his mouth, and a high-pitched whistle pierced the air. _What the…_

The castle gate burst open and El sprinted through, his wide eyes assessing the situation. “Erik!” he shouted, and dove to Erik’s side, his face a mask of fear and anger. “Hang on.” Heedless of the supine loss leader, the Luminary gathered his lover into his arms and closed his eyes, summoning Yggdrasil’s power, willing healing and wholeness into the torn and bloody thief.

Instantly freed of his pain, Erik said, “The giant…he’s still alive.” He gripped his weapons and rolled to his feet just as a snow-furred dragon crested the hills to the west, swooped down, and scooped Indignus up in its leathery arms. Before either he or El could react, the chihuawyrm sailed back over the hills and vanished. Erik clenched his jaw, unease and frustration at play in his gut as he watched them disappear.

El laid a hand on his shoulder. “What happened? Mia found me—said you’d been out here fighting a giant for ages. Where did he come from?”

Erik turned to El, his brow creased. “We need to talk. I think you’re in serious danger.”


	40. Chapter 40

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:00AM _

Jade

Jade leapt into the air, twirling her body in such a frenzy it called forth a powerful wind. A dozen grublins went sailing into the air and off the bridge, dropping into the river like thrown pebbles. Sir Hugh’s men surged forward into the gap, archers laying cover fire. On the other shore, Don Mateo’s soldiers fought valiantly, but it was obvious they were outnumbered, even with the moosifer’s illusion dispelled. The Heliodorians needed to take the bridge, and fast!

She executed a vacuum smash, launching another half dozen grublins after their compatriots, then prepared to leap into another pink tornado. “Keep back!” she shouted, then with a great cry summoned another whirlwind with her body. The hoods crowding toward her were tossed backward into the line behind them, some toppling over the sides to splash into the icy water below and be quickly borne away by the current. She attacked the off-balance hoods with her feet, kicking first one, and then another over the low bridge wall. Beside her, her competent countrymen lent their swords to removing the remainder of the line.

Up ahead a massive stone golem loomed over the skirmish. That bad boy wouldn’t be susceptible to her manipulation of the wind. She prepared to take it on with brute strength.

An arrow bit deep into her shoulder. “Augh!”

The nearest soldier whipped around. “Princess Jade!”

“Keep fighting!” she snarled, pointing forward. Shit. She needed to get off this bridge to deal with her wound. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she jumped straight up and leaned back in the air, planting the hand of her good arm on the shoulder of the man directly behind her. Folding her body in half and bending her arm, she flipped over the heads of the surging mass of soldiers fighting toward the bridge and landed perfectly in a small clearing just to the south. A few of Sir Hugh’s men stopped, jaws agape. “The bridge is that way,” she shouted.

Damn, she wished Serena was here. Or Sylv. She pulled her spear from her back and grasped the head, using it like a dagger to slice the skin around the arrow. “Ungh.” With battle-trained skill, she drew the barbed arrow out of the muscle just under her collar bone and threw it on the ground with a rageful cry. She needed to find a priest for at least a superficial heal. They would be stationed toward the rear of the force. She hated to fall back when they needed her up at the front line, but she was no good to them without her spear arm. Glancing backward, she spotted a priest’s standard and broke into a sprint.

“Healing!” she called, and the woman trotted toward her, arms outstretched. The priest’s hands wrapped around the martial artist’s wound and she muttered a quick prayer. Jade’s pain evaporated and she grasped the priest’s shoulder. “My thanks,” she said. “Your courage in lending your aid here is deeply appreciated.”

“Go with Yggdrasil, your highness,” the woman responded, and Jade turned and ran back toward the front.

A lightning fast movement to her left caught her eye and she flipped into the air, lunging downward with the point of her spear. It thudded into the dirt, a large, spiked brass hoop whirling around the shaft. _Hooper trooper._ Pushing off her spear, she landed the flip and yanked her weapon back out of the ground, pointing it in the direction of the thrown item’s source.

“Oh! Thank you for catching that!” bellowed out the rotund monster as it danced toward her, it’s massive teeth bared in a terrible smile. “I must learn not to be so clumsy.” Giving lie to his claim, he brought his foot down on one side of the hoop and flipped it into the air, then caught it neatly and set it to spinning around his ample midsection with a flourish. “My, you really are as delectable as all the reports say,” he intoned, his hooded eyes looking her up and down.

Jade’s usual disgust at that kind of presumptuous attention was tempered with unease. Something about this jerkwad struck her as familiar. “Do I…Have we met?” she asked.

The hooper trooper’s eyes closed in rapture. “Oh, how I dreamed someone like you would say that to me!” he crowed. “Dear Princess Jade, let’s forget this whole ‘I’ve been sent to kill you’ nonsense and just run away together! I don’t even care about all the Dark Lady’s promises. What do you say? You and me and a little bungalow in Lonalulu!”

“I…I’m sorry, what?” Jade’s skin crawled. She _did_ know this loser. As soon as he’d said the word ‘dreamed,’ she knew he was the hooper trooper from her nightmares. But how was that possible? Especially since he didn’t look quite the same. But the personality…ugh. “Look. I don’t know who you are or what you want. I just know I’m going to kill you now, so I can get back to helping my friends.”

The monster’s whole face fell into a grotesque pout. “Oh, Jade, you wound me ever so deeply. Don’t you see? Destiny has brought us together! I don’t want to kill you. I really don’t. I’d far prefer endless romantic nights savoring the delights of your skills with puff-puff—”

Jade stabbed him with all her strength, her metal king spear driving deep into his belly.

“Oh, see what you’ve done?” the hooper trooper said, ejecting the weapon from his layers of fat, seemingly oblivious to the spray of blood that followed it out. “Now I _have_ to kill you.”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:00AM _

Serena

Another wounded soldier landed at Serena’s feet. Without even stopping, she raised her hand and sent healing magic into his body, then whirled and thrust her sacred spear into a drackolyte and sent it flying into its fluttering fellow troops. Ahead and to the right, Oskar’s mount reared and kicked a rottontail in the head while Oskar swung his blade downward to knock a rolling fandangow out of the path. He stood in his saddle and shouted to the troops around them, pointing with his weapon toward a second master moosifer looming up ahead. The first had gone down in short order, and Serena had marveled at Oskar’s seemingly effortless command of unfamiliar troops, and the willingness of those troops to trust him.

They waded forward, fighting their way to meet up with Don Joaquin’s battalion. A cluster of deadnauts and skeleton soldiers stood almost motionless just to the south of the wedge Oskar’s troops were driving toward their target. Serena frowned. Were they illusionary monsters? Or just apathetic observers? Occasionally one would step out of the way of another monster and let it rush to engage the incoming forces, but otherwise they just scanned the battle, as if they were looking for something.

“Serena! Help!” Two soldiers had fallen back from the front line, bearing the unmoving body of a wounded comrade, his whole midsection crushed on one side, blood gushing from multiple gashes. The priestess felt for a pulse, astonished the man actually had one.

“Lay him on the ground and cover us,” she commanded, and they did so, fighting off a pair of grublins mounted on giant hornets. She laid both hands over the man’s side and closed her eyes. Reaching deep within, she prayed Yggdrasil’s power and blessing, throwing her head back as healing energy surged through her fingertips into his body. “He’s stabilized,” she shouted, “but he won’t be able to fight anymore. Someone has to get him out of here!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” One of the soldiers hoisted his friend to his shoulder while the other one raised his shield over the both of them and they ducked back toward the rear of the force. Serena said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t be picked off as they retreated, and returned her attention to what lay in front of her.

She noted at once that the strange cluster of deadnauts and skeleton soldiers had moved. A few stood in roughly the same location, but the majority had spread themselves outward in a curved formation. With growing dread, Serena realized that the curve extended on either side of her. Brandishing her spear, she swung around to see that their wide ring completed itself behind her. _Dear Yggdrasil!_ She turned again and fought her way forward through another pair of horknights, well aware that the deadnauts were moving toward her, closing the gaps in their rank. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of them actually spear another monster, a rottontail, and fling it outside the circle. _What on Erdrea?_

Panic began rising in her chest as the ground around her cleared out, leaving her entirely alone in the middle of the ring of undead. As one, they turned their backs to her, aiming their weapons toward the chaos raging across the field. Heart pounding, Serena raised her arm and prepared to cast _kaswooshle_ , even if it meant partially depleting her ability to heal later on. But before she could speak the words, a grating laugh rang out above the din.

She whirled to see two of the undead monsters part, allowing the entrance of a terrifying visage indeed. A deadnaut, but taller and broader, with heavy Zwaardsrustian armor and a pair of longswords poised for battle. Evil came off him in waves, battering Serena’s senses. “Tremble before me, foul priestess of Yggdrasil! For I, Tyriant, will now end your worthless life!”

 _Yggdrasil, guide my spear!_ Mustering holy _deliverance_ , Serena lashed up and out, landing the first strike under the deadnaut’s breast plate. He shrieked in response, thrusting her weapon away with his sword and calling forth dark magic with a burst of guttural chanting.

Serena cried out as the force of the spell knocked her backward, sending searing pain shooting through her limbs. Summoning the power of wind, she murmured “ _Swoosh!_ ” and cast a small whirlwind in Tyriant’s direction, hoping to distract him long enough to land another _deliverance_ attack.

The deadnaut growled in rage and teetered back on one foot, holding his arms out to maintain his balance. Seeing the opening, Serena rushed forward, bringing all her strength to bear on the thrust of her spear. The sacred weapon pierced the creatures armor and he screamed, as much in fury as in pain. With a grunt, he brought his twin swords down.

Serena yanked out her lance and feinted, but she wasn’t quick enough and both blades sliced into opposite arms. The wounds were not deep, but Tyriant must have coated his weapons with coagulant, as the priestess suddenly found herself completely unable to move. She fell back onto the ground with a thud, terror surging through her extremities. Tyriant laughed again, jarring Serena’s ears. He bore down on her, swords raised for a death blow. _Yggdrasil! Protect me!_

A horse leapt over the ring of deadnauts keeping Serena and Tyriant from the rest of the battle. Its front hooves connected with Tyriant’s chest, driving him to the ground. Oskar swung his sword in a wide arc, bringing it down on the terrible monster’s head, but at the last second, the creature blocked the attack and kicked upward with its armored feet into the horse’s underside. The panicked equine reared, throwing Oskar off balance.

Tyriant was on his feet in a moment. “This is not your battle, whoever you are,” he shrieked. “But I will gladly end you _both_!”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:00AM _

Sylvando

The colors of Puerto Valor fluttered proudly over Don Joaquin’s battalion as it ploughed its way toward the Drasilian plateau, forming a wall along the north edge while half of the soldiers fought their way south to meet up with Oskar’s troops. Casualties had been frustratingly high, thanks to all the illusionary enemies. The only good news was that the monsters seemed to be as confused by who was and wasn’t real as the allies. Regardless, Sylvando’s swords hung at his hip like useless accessories while his hands were constantly occupied with his recorder, singing morale, strength, and mostly healing into the dauntless heroes battling all around him. Sure, as a knight, he’d love to be lending his formidable weapon skills to the work at hand, but as an entertainer, he was filled with joy and purpose to have the particular Yggdrasil-given talents most needed.

As cries of pain rose above the clashing weapons, shouted commands, grunts and swearing, Sylvando launched into another round of hustle dance, gratified to hear calls of “¡ _Gracias_ , Sylvando!” ringing out in response.

“¡ _De nada_!” he sang, ducking under a hood’s blade and executing a twirl while simultaneously unsheathing his falcon blade and decapitating the cowled axe man. That one, at least, wasn’t illusionary.

“Incoming dragooners!” someone cried and three nearby archers fell into a back-to-back formation and aimed upward. Sylvando glanced above them as half a dozen dragon-riders dove toward his position. Arrows zinged into the air, but seemed to connect with nothing. The acrobat huffed. Likely they were entirely illusionary. He turned his attention back to what was happening at ground level, only to feel a pair of enormous claws dig painfully into his shoulders and lift him off the ground.

“¡ _Ay caramba_!” He twisted in the dragon’s grasp. “Put me down, you mean thing!” Closing his eyes, he murmured a _whoosh_ spell, engulfing both captor and captive in a vortex of air. The dragon veered crazily, losing its grip on one of Sylvando’s shoulders, and banking groundward for a few dizzying moments. Sylvando drew his shamshir of light and slashed into the dragon’s empty claw, drawing a shriek of pain.

“Knock it off down there!” screamed the rider. “ _You’re_ the one being mean!”

“Then put me down, honey! I have work to do here!”

“Yeah? Well I have a job to do, too! And now I’m gonna need the extra money to pay my ride’s damn medical bills.”

The dragon tipped and banked south toward a clearing in the foothills east of the river. “You’re taking me behind allied lines? Are you _loco_?”

“That’s where she said she’d be waiting! Now shut up!”

She? A few short moments later, the dragon descended to just above the ground and opened its claw, sending Sylvando tumbling over the rocky soil at speed. The acrobat rolled into a flip and landed lightly in a wide, grassy field ringed by boulders. In its center stood a familiar figure. But how could that be? First of all, she was long dead. And secondly this animated doll was human sized. Yet the long, green hair, the glowing red eyes and alabaster skin, the crimson and violet gown trimmed in gold over the thorny birdcage, the crown with its dangling sapphires...That fabulous fashion sense was unforgettable. She was just as beautiful as he remembered her, which meant she was probably just as evil.

“Dora, darling! Can it really be you?” Despite his friendly greeting, he readied to draw both blades.

Dora scowled and clenched her fists. “Don’t patronize me, you worthless, second-rate juggler,” she snapped. “As soon as I remove your sorry excuse for a life from the face of Erdrea, I’m off to get my reward.”

“Darling, it _is_ you! And still so bitter, honey! Can’t we turn that frown upside down?”

“Shut up and die!” she hissed, and a toothy mouth on a thorny tentacle erupted from the ground beside her and lunged.

Sylvando leapt into a back-flip, drawing both swords and slashing downward, neatly decapitating the vine and landing lightly in a plié. He brandished his weapons, his hooded eyes razor focused on his beautiful but hideous adversary.

“You think you’re so talented,” Dora-in-Grey said, a silken laugh bubbling up. “But you don’t have any of your friends with you this time. And I have many, _many_ hidden talents. I’m sure you’ll agree, but it won’t matter. Because you’ll be dead.”


	41. Chapter 41

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:00AM _

Isabella

Isabella’s body ached with a fatigue she had not felt since her childhood in the fields outside Puerto Valor. As hard as she had worked as a slave in the Dark Lady’s keep, she had been well fed, well-rested, and largely well-treated. After her mother died, and she was forced to hire herself out to support both her and her father, no one had offered her such basic necessities. She had worked until she barely had the strength to walk home. She had risen before the sun and collapsed into bed after its descent, having eaten a meager supper. Three years of this had left her tougher and stronger, but with no faith in people, much less Yggdrasil. And now, huddled in a cluster of shrubs in the shadow of the First Forest plateau, cold, hungry, and physically spent, memories of that time deepened her fear and growing despair.

She had just curled up to rest when the earthquake struck, and she’d known instantly that the Dark Lady had caused it. It had taken everything in her not to get right back up again and continue running, though she knew she literally could not. In fact, should her master’s soldiers come upon her now, she would have no option but to surrender and return to the fortress. She could hardly stand, much less fight or run. How on Erdrea would she reach Dundrasil in only two days’ time? It wasn’t possible on foot. Did Hendrik and Beatrice think the World Tree would just drop a horse out of the sky to help her on her way?

She scolded herself for disparaging them. They were desperate for any outcome that didn’t involve their own deaths, yet they were more than willing to kill themselves to prevent the Dark One from returning to the world. Despite all that the past six years had handed her, the two of them had given her hope, so the least she could do was return the favor.

Though she had been able to take very little food with her on her journey, hunger drove her to reach into the small pouch at her hip and draw out another strip of dried venison. She took small bites and chewed slowly, hoping the meager snack would leave her feeling slightly less ravenous. It did, except it also left her thirsty.

“ _Joder,_ ” she muttered, clambering to her feet. She’d crossed a creek just before collapsing against the cliff side, and backtracked through the wild forest terrain, listening for the babbling of water. There. She dropped to her knees and plunged her hands into the icy liquid, drawing out her own little pool and drinking greedily. Two more deep draughts finally slaked her thirst and she sighed.

A loud snap echoed through the woods, startling a flock of birds into flight. Isabella froze, heart hammering. Another snap. Heavy footfalls. Not human, but what? Horse? Beast? There was little cover where she knelt. Did she dare try to get back to the cluster of shrubs at the cliff? Wincing in pain, she rose to her feet, eyes scanning the trees.

A gentle snuffling drifted to her ears, as if something were nosing the ground, searching for food. Something large. Another sharp snap heralded the arrival of an enormous, green creature with wrinkly skin and a thick, blue mane. It pulled itself forward on its huge front arms, its weight resting on the knuckles of its two-fingered hands. Its deep, loose-skinned chin hung low between its arms, two fangs protruding upward from between its lips. Little yellow eyes darted back and forth along the ground.

Isabella ought to have been terrified, but the beast carried itself in such a gentle way, and it actually looked as though it was smiling. Still, a wild beast was a wild beast, and she stayed frozen, hoping it would just move on without noticing her.

Except as it sniffed the air and the ground, it kept coming toward her. Was it…was it hunting her? Would it eat her? As slowly as she dared, she moved her hand to the hilt of her knife and began backing away. Yet for every inch she backed, it advanced two. _Mierda!_ What should she do? Instinctively she knew running was not a good idea, never mind that she had no faith her legs would actually comply with that command. She stopped moving again, clutching her pathetic weapon, trying to control her breathing and her wild heartbeat.

Moments later, the great animal lowered its massive head and sniffed Isabella’s hair, then her face, then butted its broad, almost-invisible nose against her hip.

 _Are you kidding me? He could smell_ that _?_

Holding her breath, Isabella reached into her pouch and pulled out another precious strip of dried meat. She backed away a few steps and held it out to the creature, then set it down on the ground, lest the thing take her hand right off with the venison.

It looked down at the meat, then up at Isabella, then down at the meat, then up again.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You can have it.”

The odd smile broadened and the heavy-jowled animal sat back on its little hind legs. It reached out with its big two-fingered hand, plucked the jerky from the forest floor, and popped it into its enormous mouth. Isabella could have sworn it made an “mmm” sound after it swallowed. Then it looked longingly back toward the pouch on her hip.

“I can’t give you anymore. As it is I’m going to run out long before I ever reach Dundrasil.” The creature leaned forward onto its arms and walked up to her, butting her gently with its forehead, snuffling. She smiled and scratched it behind one of its horns, just at the hair line. It leaned into her hand, a sort of rumbling growl vibrating from its throat. “Are…are you purring? What on Erdrea even are you? And where did you come from?”

The beast sat back and looked up. Isabella turned and followed its gaze to the edge of the First Forest plateau towering overhead. “Up there? Then what are you doing down here?” She looked back at him to find that he was staring into her eyes, as if he was trying to tell her something. “Waitaminute…” She looked back up, noting the great branching arms of Yggdrasil reaching out from far above the plateau, her gentle glow visible even in the daylight. “Did you just…drop a horse out of the sky?”

When she looked again, her new companion had turned his thickly-furred back to her, and was peering over his shoulder at her. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Maybe she was delirious from exhaustion. She hadn’t slept in over 26 hours after all. Could she sleep on his back while he walked? How would he know where to go? How fast could he go? How insane was she for even considering this?

Fuck it. Tossing her cloak out of the way of her legs, she clambered up onto the great beast’s back. His fur was unbelievably soft and warm and she dug her hands into it, easily fitting her legs around his narrow waist. “Do you have a name?” she asked. No answer. “How ‘bout if I call you Javier?” He dropped and raised his head twice in quick succession. Nodding? Whatever. She was just going to go with it. “Hi, Javier. I’m Isabella. Can you take me to Dundrasil?”

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:00AM _

Rab

Sweat poured down Rab’s face and neck, soaking his grand master’s garb. His left arm hung limp—probably broken, thanks to the Headless Honcho landing a lucky shot with his morning star. Blood dripped from a gash in the lord regent’s thigh where one of the weapon’s spikes had made contact as it sailed by. Fighting without his claws, only relying on magic, had left him drained, and he wondered how long his ability to cast spells would hold out before he found himself almost entirely defenseless.

The good news was that the Honcho wasn’t in much better condition. His horse had developed a pronounced limp, and the shield’s breathing had become shallow and rasping, so much so that the smug bastard had stopped his infernal laughing some time back. Still, he’d become adept at sidestepping _pearly gates_ , and _kacrackle_ took a lot more out of Rab.

The Honcho backed his horse behind the altar to catch his breath, probably knowing full well that Rab wouldn’t dream of damaging the sacred table. Rab took the opportunity to give himself a _fullheal_ and heaved a sigh of relief when he got the use of his arm back. Wouldn’t fix the tear in his pants, though. He was going to take that out of the Honcho’s filthy hide.

“Get out here, ye radge walloper! This has gone on long enough!” Truly, it had come down to a battle of endurance.

The dark dullahan let out a blood curdling whine as its horse leapt straight over the altar at Rab. The lord regent fell to his knees and covered his ears, his heavy wand dropping from his grip and rolling over the paving stones. The morning star swung upward in a desperate attack and slammed into Rab’s chest, lifting him off the ground and sending him sailing across the garden and into a stand of heather.

Rab coughed blood into his hand, his breath coming in labored gasps. He could hear the dark stallion’s hooves approaching across the stone. Dear Yggdrasil, if he ever needed divine intervention, it was now! But wait, the Honcho couldn’t see him where he’d landed in the bushes. If he just had enough time… Rolling into a crouch, Rab began the series of arm motions that would cast _pearly gates_. With any luck, his adversary wouldn’t have any idea what was happening until the ground literally opened beneath him. He pushed aside the pain and fear, blocked out the sound of approaching death, and poured every iota of his concentration into the last secret of Angri-la.

A great flash of light heralded the completion of the discipline, and the fabric of reality was rent asunder, blasting the Headless Honcho with a powerful wave of magic. Both he and his mount screamed in agony, and Rab burst from the heather to see the dark dullahan being tossed from his saddle to crash to the ground, his morning star landing a dozen yards away with a massive thud.

Rab ran for his heavy wand, certain his next blow would end the evil creature’s misbegotten existence once and for all. Just as his fingers grasped the wooden shaft of his staff, he heard a high-pitched whistle and whipped around to see the Headless Honcho running for the edge of the cliff, his cloak flying behind him. Was he going to jump off the edge rather than face defeat?

As he watched, the dark dullahan leapt out into the air and was instantly borne upward on the back of an enormous three-tailed dragon. The liege lizard wheeled over the altar of souls and swooped down to snatch up the Headless Honcho’s mount in its great claws. Rab stood transfixed as the monsters soared off over the top of the First Forest plateau and away to the west.

Rage mingled with pain threatened to overwhelm him. Once again, the evil bastard who had murdered his only child had disappeared. Was there no justice in the world? He shook a fist at the sky. The simple action unbalanced him and he toppled to the earth, hitting his head on the flagstones. He lay there, his labored breathing bringing up more blood from his lungs. He could hardly muster the will to pray to Yggdrasil for healing, so furious was he at her failure to allow him closure. But at last his pragmatism overcame his righteous indignation, and he restored his body.

With a last glare to the west, Rab broke into a jog and headed back to the castle. His grandson needed to hear about this—something far more than just a simple siege was afoot.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:15AM _

Lars

“How much further?” Lars panted. He stopped to catch his breath, one hand on his knee, the other steadying himself against the wall.

“We’re almost there,” Gavin said. The Drasilian soldier was in far better shape than Lars, but even he had broken a sweat as they’d ascended. “Just a few more flights and then we’ll be in the old dungeons. Then it’s only another couple hundred feet up to the keep.”

Lars glanced back at Sesqui, who completely filled the staircase below them. “How are you not even out of breath?”

The dragon shrugged, his shoulders scraping the walls. “I don’t know. I’m a dragon.” He pulled at his whiskers. “I am a little claustrophobic, though. Is it any more open in the dungeons?”

“Yes,” Gavin replied. “Even bigger than down where the troops are housed.”

“Thank Yggdrasil,” Sesqui murmured, then brightened. “I can carry you once we get there, Lars.”

“That would be great,” the boy said. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” The others waited for him to lead the way and set the pace. They had not spoken much in the past quarter hour, after Lars had reassured the soldiers camped out by the exit that Sesqui was not an enemy spy. That had taken almost longer than he could bear. In the end, it was Sesqui who blurted that his friend, Sir Hendrik, was in danger and if they didn’t get to the Luminary, who knew what was going to happen. As soon as he’d name-dropped their beloved general, the tone had changed completely. Gavin had wanted to know more details, but Lars needed his breath for the steep climb from under the river bed up through the plateau. Plus, Lars didn’t feel comfortable divulging too much to anyone other than the Luminary.

Just when he thought his lungs would burst, the stairway opened into an enormous underground chamber with vaulted ceilings held up by massive stone pillars. The floor consisted of a series of interconnected walkways over a subterranean water system which served as the castle’s waste removal channel, or at least, that’s how it smelled to Lars. Cells of various sizes lined the walls, rusted bars and broken doors testifying to years of disuse. A few crates stood piled here and there, whether new supplies or leftovers from before the fall, Lars couldn’t tell.

“I’ll lead the way through here,” Gavin said. “It’s kind of maze-like.”

“Ride?” Sesqui asked, turning his back to Lars.

The boy clambered up the dragon’s tail and wrapped his arms around his friend’s neck. “Thanks,” he said, still panting.

The soldier set off at a brisk pace, winding along stone pathways, doubling back over wooden bridges, ducking through half a dozen different archways into rooms all nearly identical to one another. The whole system was lit with coal lanterns, which hung from iron brackets a good ten feet from the floor and Lars wondered how on earth they were all kept lit.

“Normally they’re not,” Gavin said. “But during the siege, we’re expecting everyone to have to take shelter down here at a moment’s notice, so the soldiers stationed by the exit check them regularly.”

Lars frowned. “Must be awful to be stuck underground during all of this,” he said.

“We rotate,” Gavin replied. “Lord Robert and Prince El make sure no one is underground for more than 48 hours. They’ve even taken shifts down here themselves.”

“Wow,” Sesqui said. “They sound like wonderful people.”

“It doesn’t surprise me the way Sir Hendrik talks about them,” Lars said. “He’s said a million times he’d lay down his life to protect them.”

Gavin stiffened. “Yggdrasil forbid it ever comes to that.” He picked up the pace, as if the very thought of Hendrik dying nipped at his heels.

They reached the stairs on the far side of the dungeons and Lars slid back to the ground, grateful to have had time to catch his breath. Without a word, he broke into a jog, swearing he wouldn’t stop until he reached the keep. Gavin and Sesqui kept pace and the three climbed in silence, save for the sound of their breathing.

At long last, the stone steps opened out into a broad, arched hallway. Sunlight streamed in through enormous windows, illuminating the lustrous Valorian marble floors, exquisite wood paneling, rich tapestries, and lush potted plants. The place was deserted, and Gavin said, “They must be out on the walls observing the battle. Come.” He turned and trotted off. Lars clambered onto Sesqui’s back again and the dragon caught up to the Drasilian soldier. They made their way to the spectacular entrance hall, but Lars had no time to appreciate its splendor. The open doors let in the noise of animated conversation and distant fighting. An explosion sounded from beyond the walls and a cheer went up from the soldiers lined up along the ramparts high above.

“Connor!” shouted Gavin, and another soldier turned from his conversation.

“What are you doing up here? What’s happ—what’s that dragon doing here?” He loosed his sword from its scabbard.

Gavin held up a hand. “Wait. He’s a friend. Where are Lord Robert and the prince?”

“We were infiltrated,” Connor said, his brow darkening. “A loss leader and a headless hunter. Lord Robert and Erik ran them off. The three of them are meeting in chambers with Sir Brock.” He glanced up at Sesqui again, and noticed Lars. “What’s going on? Where did they come from?”

“They’re emissaries from Princess Jade of Heliodor with a message for Prince El. They got in through the tunnels under cover of the battle. It appears the battle itself was primarily a diversion for that reason.”

Connor’s eyes widened and a smile lit his features, revealing a sizeable gap between his front teeth. “Seriously? You guys must be unbelievably important!”

Lars shook his head, impatience making him snappy. “It’s the Luminary who’s important,” he said. “Can we please see him now?”

Gavin led them back into the keep, through the central hall, and up the stairs to the throne room. The great doors were open, and within, three men stood in a cluster, deep in conversation. A fourth, with spiky blue hair, paced like a caged sabrecat around them. His shirt was torn and bloody and two deadly-looking boomerangs hung from his weapons belt, one at his hip, the other across his back. One of the other men was clearly Sir Brock, betrayed by his full armor. Another was elderly, short, and round with a luxurious white moustache and a red tam on his head. He could only be the Lord Regent, Robert. The last of them was young—probably not even eighteen—and slight of build with silken-straight, dark blonde hair and large, clear blue eyes. Could he…could this _boy_ be the Luminary? Yet even as he looked, Lars could see that it was so. Though he appeared innocent and unassuming, strength radiated from his very being, was visible in the way he stood, the way he held his head, the seriousness of his countenance. He reached out a hand and caught hold of the pacing man’s forearm.

“Erik,” he said, his tenor voice clear and steady, “you’re not helping.”

Gavin, Sesqui and Lars crossed the threshold and the Luminary looked up, his wide eyes assessing the new arrivals.

“Your highness,” Gavin said with a short bow. He then gestured to his guests. “Emissaries from Princess Jade of Heliodor.”

Lars swung down from Sesqui’s back, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, relief, anxiety, and hope all at once. He knew nothing of protocol, and frankly, couldn’t bring himself to care. Sticking his hand up under the back of his shirt, he pulled out the Calamus flute, shoved it at El and blurted, “You need to save Beatrice! She’s…I…You told Sir Hendrik to protect her from whoever was trying to find those evil books in Sniflheim. But they took her _and_ the books, and now they have Sir Hendrik, too!” Despite vowing to himself that he was done crying, Lars couldn’t stop the tears. “Please, Luminary, you’re the only one who can fix this. You have to _do_ something!”

Erik goggled. “Hendrik!” Lord Robert and Sir Brock looked similarly stricken. But El crossed the floor and put a warm hand on Lars’ shoulder.

“You’ve come all the way from Sniflheim?” he asked. Lars nodded, shoving his sleeve under his running nose. “Be at peace. If it’s in my power, I will bring your Beatrice home.”


	42. Chapter 42

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:15AM _

Jade

Why wouldn’t this idiot just stand still? Jade was astonished that such a corpulent figure could be so nimble. He danced, he twirled, he leapt, and _dear Yggdrasil,_ he sang. She’d managed to land a glancing blow or two with her powerful feet, but he had dodged her _pink tornado_ completely, countering with a _kaboom_ spell that had sent her flying and left her pain-filled and disoriented for precious moments.

“Oh, such a lovely dance we’re doing,” Booga said, his sharp teeth bared in a hideous grin. “Can’t you picture it? Under the moonlight on a white-sand beach?” He slashed at her with his jagged claws and Jade flipped backward out of his reach. She refused to engage in his coquettish banter. It made her sick to her stomach.

The hooper trooper lashed his tail, the bangles on it jingling a steady beat except when he was slapping them against his constantly-moving hoop in a jangling syncopation. As much as he disgusted her, Jade had to admit his rhythm was on point, almost making her want to dance right along with him. _Yggdrasil forbid!_ She tried to focus inward, on the beat of her heart, the hum of her energy, the orchestration of her muscles. His incessant motion was a distraction, throwing off her finely honed kinesthetic precision.

“Come on, dear Jade, let’s end this silly lovers’ spat and run off to Lonalulu together. The Dark Lady can’t do her little ritual without me, so you can save the world all by yourself. It’s a win-win!”

What the hell was he talking about? She doubted she would get anything coherent out of this sick bastard, but on the other hand, maybe it was time for her to distract him. Ugh. The thought made her want to vomit. She was so tired of being problematically hypersexualized by men, or in this case, monsters. _Let’s just get this over with_.

Jade went still, jutted her hip to one side and ran a slender hand over her shoulder to knock her luxurious pony tail to one side. “Save the world?” she said in her most seductive tone. “Tell me more.”

Booga gyrated more slowly, his hooded eyes hungry. “Calasmos’ lover needs me to bring him back. If we run away together, she’s up a creek without a Booga.” He giggled and Jade forced down the urge to gag.

“But surely she’s promised you a reward far greater than I could give you,” she said, pouting her lower lip, letting the hooper trooper just imagine what that reward might be.

He took a two-step closer, and ran a hand over his unibrow. “Ohh, I don’t know about that. Who needs power when you have true love?”

“I don’t know,” Jade said, willing her body into perfect calm, channeling every ounce of energy into taut preparedness. “Power can be awfully nice sometimes.” Before her final word died away, she sprang into a maelstrom of directed force, battering the astonished hooper trooper with seven pulverizing kicks over every part of his body. The last of these she aimed directly between his legs and sent him half bouncing, half rolling across the clearing, clutching at his privates and howling in agony and rage. “And I’ll take mine back, now, you depraved moron!” she shouted.

She flew at him again, readying the roundhouse kick that would end him, but as she approached, he managed to pull off another _kaboom_ spell that sent her sprawling. As she struggled to her feet, a high-pitched whistle pierced the air. Seconds later, a rotund, red dragon appeared overhead, its enormous girth borne on impossibly small wings. She dropped into a defensive position, waiting for it to come into range, but it ignored her completely, instead diving toward the hooper trooper and snatching him off the ground by his hoop.

“Farewell, Jade,” Booga cried out as they ascended. “We’ll always have Dundrasil!”

 _As if!_ Jade spat on the ground and shuddered. She had to put aside her personal revulsion, because the truth of the matter was that whatever ritual was to bring back Calasmos must be imminent. She prayed that Lars had made it into the castle so El, Erik, and Rab could get out here and they could all figure out how to prevent it from happening. Urgency drove her steps back toward the front lines.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:15AM _

Serena

The chaotic cacophony of battle filled Serena’s ears, yet she was aware only of Tyriant’s shrieking laughter and Oskar’s grunts of exertion as the two clashed swords ten feet from where she had fallen. Oskar had been flung from his horse after the uber deadnaut had paralyzed the great beast with a sword strike across its flank. It lay not far from Serena, eyes rolling in panic, its breathing labored.

Feeling at last began to return to Serena’s extremities and she pushed to her feet, pitching to one side before finding her center of gravity again. She readied her spear and assessed the situation. If she cast a strong wind spell, she risked hurting Oskar or opening him to attack by Tyriant. But if she went in with her spear and he managed to hit her, she’d find herself paralyzed on the ground all over again.

While she was still thinking, Tyriant kicked outward, dropping Oskar onto his rear end in the grass, then turned in her direction and shot off another _zammle_ spell, knocking her back. Searing pain tore from her core out to her extremities, ripping a howl of pain from her throat.

Oskar leapt to his feet and redoubled his attack, landing a piercing blow through the skeletal warrior’s empty eye socket.

Tyriant screamed and clutched at the weapon with a gloved hand, holding it fast while stabbing outward. Oskar had no time to react, even to drop his weapon, and Tyriant’s sword passed through the soldier’s gut. The evil creature withdrew his blade, sending blood spraying from Oskar’s body, and the captain slumped to the ground, unmoving.

“NO!” Serena shrieked. She gritted her teeth through her own pain and surged forward, arms raised. Channeling her sudden fury, she summoned a whirlwind with such power the forces of magic were driven haywire, sending the vortex like a barbed projectile into the monster, lifting him into the air, throwing him ten feet, and dashing him to the ground.

Serena flew to Oskar’s side, terrified to find him past healing. He lay in a growing crimson pool, his skin ashen grey, completely unresponsive. She felt for a pulse and at first didn’t find one, then, just barely, her fingers sensed a wan flutter. Heedless of the danger of Tyriant’s proximity, she closed her eyes and called up Yggdrasil’s healing, willing all of the goddess’ power and her own into the body of the broken soldier. _Please_ , she begged.

Oskar groaned, but still did not move—of course, he was paralyzed by Tyriant’s poisoned blade. Relieved, she stood and drew her spear, ready to deliver a death blow to the foul creature who had singled her out. As she turned, Tyriant raised a whistle to his teeth, and a piercing tone filled the air. She lifted her weapon and ran toward him, only to be knocked back by a sudden blow from the air. A riderless dragooner’s mount swooped down and skidded to a halt in the grass. Tyriant flung himself onto the dragon’s back, clasping it around the neck as it leapt back into the sky, wheeling in a tight circle almost straight upward before banking west and cruising well out of range of Heliodor’s archers until it disappeared over the distant cliffs.

Serena rushed back to Oskar’s side. “Can you move?” she asked.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Damn.” Oskar’s horse had risen to its feet and stood nervously whipping its tail, but there was no way she could lift him onto it by herself and get him out of there. Around them, the deadnauts who had separated them from the rest of the battle began to notice that their leader had scarpered without them, and were now turning their attention to the priestess and the prone soldier in their midst. They brandished their swords. “Stay down!” she commanded Oskar, pointlessly, and then cried, “ _Kaswooshle!_ ” and blew half a dozen of their adversaries into the surrounding melee. She just had to buy Oskar a few minutes. Hadn’t anyone else noticed what had been happening here? She knocked another group of deadnauts off their feet, and then began turning in a slow circle and blasting anyone who approached out of her path.

Finally, Oskar pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He retrieved his sword from where Tyriant had thrown it, then placed a hand on Serena’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. “My thanks,” he said.

“And mine,” she replied, her cheeks going pink. “Can you fight?”

He nodded. “Once more into the fray?”

“Yes. Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Oskar swung up onto his horse, and with a last, lingering look at Serena, wheeled and plunged back into the battle, sword flying. She watched him go, filled with admiration for his dedication, then fished an elfin elixir out of her hip pouch. She downed it, relieved to feel her power restored, and waded back into the chaos, attentive to the needs of all the brave soldiers around her.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:15AM _

Sylvando

Dora-in-Grey had begun to look a little worse for wear. While Sylvando’s _pink pirouette_ had done next to nothing to actually hurt the animated doll, it had kicked up a great deal of dirt into the joints of her hands, arms and neck, making it harder for her to move. Never mind the fact that she was livid that he had mussed her hair and dirtied her gown. It wasn’t in Sylvando’s nature to be petty, but after her little thorny dragon-mouthed vines had torn a gash in his favorite leather jerkin, he couldn’t feel bad about her dress, no matter how fabulous it had been.

With a petulant scowl on her otherwise beautiful face, Dora proceeded to turn her head 180 degrees in order to pry the dust out of the junction between it and her neck. Sylvando shuddered. “Oh, honey, that’s gonna give me nightmares for a week.”

“Good!” she spat. Her head snapped back into position and she fired off a blast of icy wind from between her crimson lips.

Sylvando spun into an evasive move, but caught the brunt of the attack in his side anyway, and skidded into the dirt on his shoulder, the cold like blades through his fingers and toes. Rolling to his feet, he launched into an acrobatic flip, landing with his twin swords poised to strike. One slash, then another, and Dora howled in pain and rage, loosing another of her monster vines as she leapt back and away. The psychotic plant bit down on Sylvando’s arm, puncturing leather and skin and scraping on bone. He lopped the thing’s head off with his falcon blade and it vanished, vine and all, leaving another gash spurting blood.

Dora flew at him, lashing out with the back of her articulated hand, the painted metal slamming into his face with astonishing force. Swallowing the pain, Sylvando grabbed her wrist with both hands and rolled backward onto the ground, planting his feet on the bars of her cage and flipping her over his head to crash down several yards behind him. He continued his roll into a handstand and sprang back to his feet, executing a half turn and coming to rest in a defensive crouch.

Another toothed tentacle erupted from the ground, this time fastening itself onto Sylvando’s boot. “Darling, enough with the little mouths, already! This outfit is a family heirloom!”

“Fine, then! Take this instead!” She breathed her wintry breath at him again, its frigid force like ice shards on his skin. Such rage, such ugliness—but he would not stoop to her level. It was time to dazzle her with his unstoppable dance moves, and put her out of her self-created misery once and for all.

He bent into a bow, one arm behind him, threw his hand to the side and thrust his hips forward, then pointed straight up, sending forth a blast of pure joy into the center of Dora’s chest.

The macabre mannequin shrieked in agony and fell backward, rolling to one side and lying unmoving, as though her puppeteer had severed her strings. Sylvando heaved a sight of relief and waited for the monster to dissolve into smoke. It didn’t happen. Drawing his swords, he crept up behind her, poised to completely sever her painted head from her body at the neck joint.

Just then, her head rotated backwards again and she huffed out her blizzard attack, blowing Sylvando into a pain-wracked back flip. As he landed, he heard a high-pitched whistle and spun to see an ethereal serpent come sailing over the hills from the west. He raised his falcon blade and shamshir of light, ready for yet another one-on-one battle, but the dragon merely curled its claws into Dora’s cage and lifted her from the ground. With one eyebrow raised, Sylvando watched them recede into the distance.

She had said she’d been contracted to kill him, and she had failed. So where was she off to now? Something just wasn’t right about all this. It all had to fit together somehow. “I hope that little boy gets to El so we can figure all this out,” he said aloud. He glanced down at his father’s torn _coraza de caballero_. How was he ever going to explain to _papi_ about this?


	43. Chapter 43

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 9:45AM _

El

Sir Brock’s troops stood at the ready. Archers lined the ramparts, 100 foot soldiers, fully armed and armored waited in their ranks in the bailey, with another 50 armored men on horseback at the rear, including Brock himself. Rab, Erik, and El gathered on the roof of the keep. From that vantage point, El could see the battle raging to the south beyond the walls, and a good chunk of the distant monster horde below to the east. The monsters at the base of the castle walls were out of view, but their force extended all the way to the edge of the plateau, making a large number of them plainly visible. Which meant that he and his companions were visible to them.

“Let’s make this quick,” Erik said.

“Aye, they havenae noticed us yet, but they’ll nae miss a great flying battle whale landing up here.”

El raised the flute. “As soon as you see any reduction in the enemy numbers—”

“We know. Sir Brock’s got this. You worry about you.” Erik’s voice held just the barest note of concern. He wouldn’t show it in the moment, but El knew it was there.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather come with me?” El asked.

Erik shook his head. “I’d be useless up there. Makes much more sense for me to be on the front lines where I can do some serious damage.”

“He’s right, Lad. As soon as you even the odds out there, we’ll be along to mop up the opposition.” His grandfather put a hand on his shoulder. “Now get up there and let’s end this thing.”

El nodded and placed the instrument to his lips. He filled his lungs with the bright, Drasilian air and blew across the opening, creating a sweet tone, then moved his fingers to play the melody that would summon Cetacea to his position. The plaintive notes drifted heavenward and El followed them with his eyes, scanning the sky for the great mystical beast who had served the luminary for a thousand years.

From somewhere beyond the World Tree, she appeared, her flippers and wings undulating in rhythm as she flew. Her throat pleats came into focus, her broad baleen the smile of a long lost friend. She circled once overhead before coasting to a stop, hovering just over the roof and extending her flipper like a gang plank.

Immediately, arrows began singing through the air, glancing off Cetacea’s thick hide, but mortally dangerous to the humans beside her. With a last glance at Rab and Erik, El scrambled up onto the whale’s back, bracing his feet just behind the green gemstone set into her head. The moment he was in place, a telepathic link opened between the Luminary and his mythic mount, and she lifted skyward with powerful wing beats, soaring out over the altar of souls before banking into a wide circle and nosing into a steep dive on the east side of the castle. El glanced down to see Erik and Rab running for the stairs that would take them off the roof. All the arrows that continued to fly from below appeared to be aimed at Cetacea, so they would be safe. At least until the gates opened and they rushed into the horde beyond.

 _Focus, El_. The whale aimed toward a master moosifer standing stock still just outside the main gate. Gathering his energy into his left hand, he raised it to the sky and the mystical symbol on its back burst into light. Overhead, an answering, glowing symbol as large as Cetacea herself appeared and sent down a terrific fork of lightning into the illusion-casting monster, leveling it in a single blow. Cetacea pulled out of her dive wheeling to the east out over the field and El peered down toward the plateau to see hundreds of enemies simply wink out of existence. A cheer went up from the castle walls, and at once, Dundrasil’s archers opened up on the monsters below.

El turned his attention to a second moosifer stationed near the top of the bridge from the field to the plateau. With hope-fueled joy, he tapped again into his Yggdrasil-given gift, summoning the incredible power he’d been unable to bring to bear while trapped within the walls of his own castle. Lightning exploded groundward, pulverizing the great horned demon below, eliminating another significant portion of the enemy force. Cetacea banked north and sailed on in search of the next master moosifer. El had calculated he could perform the necessary spell another seven times before having to drink an elfin elixir to replenish his power. There had to be dozens of the evil beasts down there to keep up such a massive illusion over such distance—he only hoped his supplies held out.

Under his feet, the whale changed direction, as he willed her beyond the monster horde to the eastern edge of the field. He needed to break through the illusion to see how many allies stood ready to assist. As if flying out of a thick cloud, El suddenly could see Heliodor’s army spread out over the entire edge of the green. Easily three thousand men, perhaps more, considering the soldiers already engaged on the south side.

Strategy crystalized in El’s head. Wipe out the moosifers closest to his allies from north to south, then work his way back in toward the plateau. That way Heliodor and Puerto Valor could engage at once, drawing the enemy out and thinning the defenses around the remaining moosifers so that archers could reach them from a distance should El lose the ability to take them down.

He cried out a prayer of gratitude to Yggdrasil for her deliverance, wheeled on his sacred mount, and dropped into a steep dive, his left hand raised to the clear blue sky.

Jade

At the sight of Cetacea, Jade’s heart leapt. With every powerful lightning strike, her energy surged, fueled by hope, even in the midst of her nagging fears following her encounter with Booga. Don Mateo had taken the lower peninsula by the tunnel exit and Sir Hugh’s troops had regrouped and sped northward, joining Oskar in his foray to meet up with Don Joaquin. As Jade jogged alongside her countrymen, she heard a deafening cry rise up from the rest of Heliodor and Puerto Valor’s troops under Sir Aldrich’s command. As El wiped out moosifer after moosifer, they swept onto the entire length of the field, engaging the now greatly diminished enemy. From her vantage point in the thick of things, Jade could not even begin to estimate whether the battle was now evenly matched, but likely the monsters had taken a great hit to their morale as well as their apparent numbers as their psychological defense crumbled. While she did not want to make foolish assumptions, she felt fairly certain victory would be theirs.

Another burst of lightning struck just to the northeast and Jade quickened her pace, mentally preparing to re-enter the fray. Time to win the day!

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 2:00PM _

Isabella

The gentle, rocking motion came to a stop, and Isabella woke. _What? Where?_ She blinked twice, hard, her eyes coming into focus on the thick blue fur against her face. Had she truly slept while Javier walked? Pushing up against him, she glanced at the sky, surprised to see that the sun had already disappeared over the edge of the First Forest plateau, leaving the woods around her in shadow. The sky was still bright—it must be early afternoon, which meant she had slept for several hours. _Not enough_ , she thought, stretching her sore back.

“Where are we?” she asked, as if Javier could answer.

The gentle beast lowered his head into a shallow creek and began gulping water. _Not a bad idea_. Isabella slipped to the ground and dropped to her knees, lifting the cold, clear liquid to her lips. Her thirst quenched, she rocked back onto her heels and fished a strip of venison out of her pouch. She glanced guiltily at Javier. “I don’t have enough to share,” she said. “Can you find something to eat?”

He nodded and shuffled off, nose to the ground. Isabella tore the leathery meat with her teeth, trying to savor each bite, but too hungry to really notice the flavor. She thought as she chewed. How far had they gone while she slept? Did Javier move much faster than her walking pace? If the Dark Lady had sent out horsemen, which she certainly would have, how long did Isabella have before they overtook her?

She peered into her pouch—three more strips. She knew it was unwise, but her hunger drove her to pull out another one and devour it. This one took the edge off, and she washed it down with another deep draught from the stream. If only she had the first clue how to survive in the wild, she might spend her time waiting for Javier by hunting or looking for edible plants. Instead, she sat in a semi-stupor, her exhaustion and fear paralyzing her even as everything in her was screaming at her to keep moving.

Javier reappeared through the trees, walking on three legs while carrying a bundle of something in one hand, and another object in his teeth. He dropped into a crouch in front of Isabella and set down the bundle at her feet—three big branches laden with plump wild raspberries. Isabella’s stomach groaned in anticipation. “For me?” she asked, eyes wide. The great beast nodded and dropped a freshly killed rabbit from his jaw. “Did you get anything for yourself?” He huffed and his odd little animal smile broadened.

Isabella glanced skyward. Was it safe to light a fire? Did she have time? No. She would smoke the rabbit in a ground pit when they stopped for the night. In the mean time, she pulled out her knife and expertly cleaned and wrapped the meat in broad leaves, bundling it into its cleaned pelt and stuffing the whole lot into her pouch. Then she plucked the raspberries one at a time and popped them into her mouth, savoring the sweetness on her tongue. She tossed a few into the air and Javier caught them in his great maw, shaking with laughter after each one. At last, she crawled up onto his back and he resumed his rocking gait southward along the cliff’s edge. Isabella looked up toward the gentle glow of the world tree. For crying out loud, she was starting to believe in Yggdrasil again.

_ Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15, 7:00PM _

El

Once Sir Aldrich’s crossbowmen had brought down the last moosifer, the battle had turned into a rout, and by mid-afternoon, the men of Heliodor, Puerto Valor, Octagonia, and Sniflheim had begun returning to their camps, bearing the wounded back for healing, and the dead for burial. It would be some time before anyone knew the full extent of the casualties, but the priests had been instrumental in keeping them lower than they might have been, and thanks to Serena and Sylvando, their particular troops had lost only a dozen. Similarly, Rab and El had kept Drasilian deaths on the plateau to a minimum even as they brought to bear their formidable offensive powers to clearing the horde from around the castle. Oskar had emerged from the battle a hero, his brilliant tactical decisions and selfless courage preventing even greater loss—not one of Sniflheim’s soldiers had been killed.

El sat at the great council table in Dundrasil castle, his emotions a potent mix of relief, gratitude, sorrow, and unease. He saw the same in his friends as they had hugged him and one another and taken their seats. Now Erik was halfway into his second pint of ale while Veronica powered through the cold pheasant as if she hadn’t eaten in a month. Jade spoke animatedly to Rab, her brow knit in worry, his expression mirroring hers. Serena’s eyes were swollen from crying for all the men she couldn’t save, and Sylvando had one arm around her as he encouraged her to “eat something, honey.” Sir Aldrich and Sir Brock sat stiffly in their chairs, observing all the appropriate protocol El’s friends had eschewed for the moment. The young guardsman from Sniflheim’s posture was similarly rigid, but El sensed it was more from feeling out of place than any formality. Don Mateo seemed the most relaxed of everyone as he sipped his wine and chatted with the professaurus.

Lars stood and planted his hands on the table. “Can we please talk about how we’re going to get Beatrice back?” he shouted over the din. The room went silent.

“Lars.” Oskar touched his shoulder.

“No, Oskar! We need to do something!”

El said, “I get it, Lars. It’s urgent. But it’s also part of something much bigger going on. Before we can do anything, we need to figure out as much as we can.” He swept the room with his wide, blue eyes. “We need to go back to the beginning and reconstruct what’s happened so far.” He paused and looked at Rab, realizing with a stab of guilt that he’d overstepped protocol. Referring to the his own grandfather with the appropriate formality, he said, “Sorry, Lord Robert. Technically you’re still in charge here.”

“Ach, never you mind, Lad,” Rab replied. “It’s yours in all but name anyway. Go on, then.” He tossed back a belt of Drasilian Rivergod and sighed.

“Lars, let’s you, Jade, Oskar and I go through this for everyone’s benefit.” Between the first-hand observation of events and the correspondence El had exchanged with Jade and Hendrik, the four of them laid out the facts they had, from Markus’ first appearance, through the discovery of the books and the revelation of what they contained, to Hendrik’s departure and the abduction of Beatrice with the books by Markus and Elvan.

“So it’s true,” Jade said. “Calasmos’ lover is trying to bring him back to life.”

“His lover?” said Sylvando. “Darling, how did you know that?”

The princess flipped her pony tail over her shoulder. “I was attacked by some random hooper trooper, separate from the battle. He said someone called the Dark Lady needed him to complete a ritual to resurrect Calasmos. After he killed me, of course.”

“We were attacked by assassins, too!” Erik said, sitting up straight. “Rab—er, I mean, Lord Robert by a headless hunter, and me by a loss leader who said I had to be taken out because I stood between the Luminary and the Dark One.”

“I was almost drowned by a fucking coralotl,” Veronica said, gesturing with her fork. “Said he was the ‘mighty Alizarin, ruler of the seas’ or some such bullshit.”

El’s gut clenched. _Alizarin?_ “Wait. Were all of you singled out like this?” He turned to Sylvando, who set down his wine.

“Oh, honey, don’t even get me started. I got a visit from the ghost of Yggsmas past. Someone resurrected Dora-in-Grey for a rematch.”

“That vapid bitch?” Veronica said. “Ick.”

“Tell me about it. At least she was my own size this time.” Sylvando held his thumb and forefinger up to indicate that she’d been shrunk down.

“What about you, Serena?” El asked. She shuddered in response, then glanced surreptitiously at Oskar.

“Yes,” she said. “A skeletal warrior of sorts. More vicious and imposing than a deadnaut, like some sort of general. He was wearing Zwaardsrustian armor and had two swords.” She looked down for a moment and tapped the table. “He said his name was Tyriant.”

 _Tyriant and Alizarin._ “Did anyone else give a name?” El asked, peering into his friends’ faces.

“Booga,” Jade said. “Stupid name.” The tension in her body belied her dismissiveness, and she hid her unnerved expression with a swallow of wine.

Erik said, “The giant called himself Indignus.” He frowned. “And it may sound weird, but I could have sworn I knew him from somewhere.” His eyes were clouded as he looked into El’s. “Except…well he looked different than he should have…I mean…if I _had_ met him. But I couldn’t have.” He shook his head and ran a hand through his spiky hair, making it stand up even more. “It doesn’t make any sense, I know.”

 _Dear Yggdrasil. It makes perfect sense. You just don’t know it._ But how could this be? Of course Jasper and Gyldygga couldn’t have made an appearance, which is why the Headless Honcho and Dora-in-Grey must have been brought in…But if these were the sentinels who had never actually _become_ sentinels…whoever was doing this ritual must be aware of the reality before El had altered time! _Think, El. Think._

“What’s the matter?” Erik asked. “You went pale all of a sudden.”

El shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry,” he said. “Something is just…wrong about all of this.”

“You know, honey,” Sylvando said, “we had all figured that this whole siege had two purposes. One, to distract Hendrik so Beatrice was vulnerable, and two, to keep you from interfering in whatever is going on here. But now it sounds like it had a third purpose: to get rid of all your friends.”

“Did everyone else’s assassin have a getaway dragon?” Erik asked. They all nodded.

“So they all flew off to help the Dark Lady with her ritual,” Jade said. “She needed them all alive, so they took off before we could defeat them.”

Oskar drummed his fingers on the table. “Doesn’t it seem tactically questionable to send critical personnel into a situation where they could be taken out?”

“Melodrama, darling,” Sylvando said. “Poetry. Performance.” He flourished his arms and gave a half bow from his chair.

“Or blind arrogance,” Rab said with a scowl. “Whoever she is, she’s convinced of her own success.”

Serena frowned. “You don’t suppose it’s foreknowledge.”

“If that were the case, wouldn’t we all be dead?” asked Erik.

“Not necessarily,” the priestess replied. “It’s possible she only knew for certain that they would all be present for the ritual, so assumed it was safe to send them to kill us.”

El stood, his face a mask of frustration, his gut seething with anxiety. “We’re wandering off into speculation now,” he said. “What do we actually know? This Dark Lady needs seven books and at least six monsters to carry out this ritual to resurrect Calasmos. She needs Beatrice to figure out the books because for whatever reason, she can’t do it herself. She needs Hendrik…” Why did she need Hendrik?

“To force Beatrice to help her,” Serena said sorrowfully.

“To force…” El sagged, understanding.

Erik looked at him. “Oh, man.”

“Well, at the risk of speculating further,” Rab said, setting down his cup, “there’s a good chance Hendrik and Beatrice are still alive, so long as this ritual hasnae been performed yet.” He refilled his vessel with the potent Drasilian liquor.

“But how do we find them?” Lars asked. “Before it’s too late.”

Oskar said, “Anders, my second, said Hendrik was carried northeast from the foothills below Arboria.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Veronica said. “There’s a whole range of mountains north of the First Forest. They could be anywhere in there.”

El sank back into his chair, fists clenched, then breathed through his anger. They’d come through the siege, and if anything, he felt more helpless than when they’d been in it. What was he supposed to do now? At any moment, Calasmos might show up and send all of Erdrea to hell in a hand basket. Yggdragon had said evil would always arise, but she hadn’t said anything about it happening so soon!

Jade laid her hand on the table, catching his attention. “El, you’re not in this alone.”

“Let the strategists come up with a plan for searching the mountains,” Sylvando said, indicating the generals and Oskar.

Veronica gestured with her mug. “You eat. You’ve been starving yourself up here for days.”

“And get some sleep, Lad,” said Rab. “We’ll all think clearer in the morning.”

“And let’s all take time to pray,” Serena added. “Yggdrasil is sure to give guidance at such a perilous time.”

Erik squeezed El’s hand under the table. “We’ll find them,” he said, “and we’ll stop whatever’s happening here.”

El squeezed back, then turned to Lars. “I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said. “If not for your courage, intelligence, and loyalty, Dundrasil would still be under siege. More than anyone, you are the hero of this day. Know that when we find Beatrice, it will be you, far more than I, who have made that possible. We’ll leave first thing in the morning to mount a search, and we will not stop searching until she is found. Until then, get some rest.”

Lars stood and leaned on the table. “Since I’m a hero, can I stay with the generals and help figure out a plan?”

Sir Aldrich laughed. “Son, as far as I’m concerned, you already outrank Sir Hugh. Were you of Heliodor, I’d knight you here and now.”

El smiled. This kid was something else. “I can’t make you go to bed,” El said. “And I’m guessing you wouldn’t sleep anyway. So have at it.”

“Thanks,” Lars said, his own smile belied by the intensity in his eyes.

Looking around the table, El thought, _Erik was right in what he said to Indignus. I might be the Luminary, but none of us was ever meant to be alone._


	44. Chapter 44

**_Part Three:_ **

**_New Moon_ **

**_Forty-Four_ **

__

_ Two Days before the New Moon (Siege of Dundrasil: Day 15), 7:00PM _

Beatrice

Beatrice sat curled into a tight ball, arms clutching her knees, in the furthest corner of the bed. The whole of the room seemed to be filled with Markus. Though he sat in a reading chair, idly thumbing through one of the dark books with gloved hands, his very presence oppressed her, made it hard to breathe, to think. And she had to think, to cling to her reason, her strength of will. There was no escaping the fact that two days hence she would be called upon to stand in the place of the vainglorious liaison, and choose. Choose to witness Hendrik’s murder while she held fast to her conviction, or to give in and lead the ritual in the vague hope that if the Luminary had destroyed Calasmos once he could again. It was no choice at all.

The cell door opened and a young woman in servant’s garb carried in a basket and a bottle of wine, set them on the table, and departed in silence. Markus glanced up. “Hungry?” he asked.

Beatrice looked away, sickened by the sight of him.

“Suit yourself.” He wandered over to the table and uncovered the wooden container. “Looks like one of Isabella’s beloved rabbits,” he said. “I can pretend I’m stabbing her with every bite.” He illustrated his twisted words by thrusting his knife into the basket and drawing out a chunk of meat. Wolfing down the steaming flesh, he turned back to Beatrice. “Delicious. Come, now, have some. Surely you need to replenish your energy after you spent so much of it fucking Hendrik last night.” She tensed, refused to look at him. “Poor Caden had to stand there in the hall and listen to your howling, you know. He said he’d never heard anything like it. Then again, I’m fairly certain the man’s never been had in his life. Probably the first thing he did when he left his post was to go beat off in the barracks.” He laughed and gulped wine. “Tell me, was it a victory fuck after convincing Isabella to kill herself in some desperate attempt to thwart the Dark Lady?”

Beatrice rolled to her feet and walked to the thickly padded bars at the far end of the cell. Summoning what Hendrik had taught her in that one, brief lesson, she drew back her right arm and punched through her hip into the blankets. The impact sent a wave of intense satisfaction through her body. Closing her eyes, she repeated the exercise, following with a left. She focused on her breathing, on removing Markus from her mind, her air. She felt Hendrik’s hands on her hipbone and in the center of her back, straightening her posture, heard him reminding her to bend her knees, keep her center of gravity low. Another left, right, then left. Her pulse quickened with her effort, driving the despair-fueled torpor from her. It became meditative, a kind of prayer, this sharp, decisive action, engendering a sense of power in the midst of her powerlessness.

She wound up for another right, and Markus’ hand clamped around her wrist. He spun her to face him and slammed her against the bars, holding her pinioned. “Training for something?” he asked, grinning.

“Aye,” she said. “For the moment when I kill you.” The words just came—Beatrice herself was not even sure where from. But as soon as they’d left her lips, she knew she meant them.

Markus laughed. “You’ve lost your mind. Far more likely you’ll kill yourself than me.” He released her and turned away, obviously unafraid of her. “And that’s what I’m here to prevent. So you can come eat willingly, or I can force it down your throat. Your choice.”

Choice. Whatever hers was to be in the end, she vowed she would be free of Markus once and for all.

_ One Day Before the New Moon: Early Morning _

Isabella

Smoke rose gently from the vents in the earth, barely visible under cover of night. Isabella could smell the roasting rabbit and her mouth watered, but it wasn’t yet time to eat, was it? What was the time anyway? Now that she thought of it, she didn’t remember starting the fire. Or even stopping on her journey. Where was Javier? She peered through the inky darkness for any sign of the blue-maned creature. Suddenly the branches of the World Tree far overhead began glowing, bathing her in a single ray of warm light. Wait. Didn’t Yggdrasil always glow? Javier’s yellow eyes appeared in the darkness beyond the cone of illumination, and he ambled towards her, his great green arms and jowls preceding the rest of him into visibility. Isabella got to her feet and scratched him behind his horn. “What would I do without you?” she said as he purred.

“What are you doing _with_ him?” a voice echoed through the woods. Isabella spun, eyes searching the darkness.

“Who’s there? Who are you?”

Another beam of light drifted down like a waterfall from the plateau above. There in the center of it stood a woman, perhaps not even twenty, of slim build, with the kindest face Isabella had ever seen; her wide, indigo eyes held such deep compassion. She had short, blond hair, held back by a silver headband inlaid with an aqua stone, and wore an aqua gown with a richly embroidered white bodice and overlay and detached sleeves. A princess by the look of her, yet a luminous power flowed from her very being. “I could ask you the same question,” she said with a curious frown, a tiny crease between her elegant brows. “Yet Yggdrasil has chosen to show you to me, so you must be important.” She glanced up toward the World Tree. “Where are we?” she asked.

Isabella’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you want to know that?”

The woman looked at Isabella, then peered off beyond the girl. “Oh, dear. You’re in danger. It must be something to do with this whole terrible mess.” She chewed a finger. “Alright. Don’t you worry about me. Just stay safe until we find you.”

“Until you…what? Who’s we?” The light winked out, plunging Isabella back into darkness. “Wait! Where did you go? Wait!” Was that woman some vile emissary of the Dark Lady? Would Isabella be overtaken any moment? Had she stopped for too long? Too soon? Was it the fire? Panic swept through her, and she groped for Javier, for the cliff wall, for anything! “Wait!”

Isabella sat up, chest heaving. The first rays of sunlight streamed through the trees, bathing the forest in pale yellow-green. Javier lifted his head and snuffled her hair. She breathed in the lingering scent of smoked rabbit and made haste to dig it from the ground and smother what remained of the coals. Leaving the meat to cool on a stone, she scampered into a nearby bush to relieve herself, then scrubbed up in the babbling brook they’d camped beside. “We need to go, Javier,” she said. “Quickly.”

The vision of the stranger from her dream stayed with her. The woman herself had not frightened Isabella—she had been a comforting presence—but what she had said about Isabella being in danger… It hadn’t been just a recognition of Isabella’s current state, but a prediction of the near future, she was certain of that.

She tore a chunk of the meat from the carcass and tossed it into Javier’s mouth, then bolted down a little herself to break her fast. Bundling the rest, still hot, into her pouch, she took another drink from the stream and clambered onto Javier’s back. “Can you run?” she asked.

The beast shook his mane, as if to say _hold on tight_. She clutched great handfuls of his fur and locked her knees around his narrow waist. With a snuffling growl, he launched into a loping trot, staying in close to the side of the cliff. Isabella looked down to see the ground speeding by in a blur. She had no idea how long he would be able to keep this up, but every stride further from their camp site lessened her anxiety a bit. There was nothing else to do now but hang on and hope.

_ One Day Before the New Moon: Morning _

Serena

“Oh, my,” Serena said, rubbing her temples. “What an odd dream!” Barely stopping to splash her face with water from the basin, she dashed out of her room and down to the palace kitchens. Mia was alone there, helping herself to a thick slab of bread with butter and jam. “Good morning, Mia. Have you seen El?”

The girl grinned wickedly with her mouth full, revealing purple teeth. “He’s probably having sex with my brother,” she mumbled, then giggled until she nearly choked.

Serena went bright red.

“That’s enough, Mia!” Erik said, smothering a grin as he threw a shoe at her from the doorway. “He’ll be right down,” he said to Serena, retrieving his projectile from the other side of the room and pulling it onto his foot. His hair was wet and he smelled of soap; Serena tried not to imagine him in the tub with El. “You okay?” he asked. “You look a little freaked.”

“I had a dream—a vision, really. I need to speak with El as soon as possible.”

“Grab some breakfast. I’ll go see if I can hurry him along.” Shooting his sister a withering glare, followed by an indulgent smile, he ducked back into the hall and jogged off.

Serena looked sideways at Mia, terrified about what the girl might say next. But before anything awkward could occur, Veronica stumbled in, arms in an enormous stretch. “Is there coffee?” she mumbled.

“That stuff’ll stunt your growth,” Mia said with a grin. Veronica returned it, then grabbed Mia in a headlock and ruffled her hair.

“Stunt your growth. Ha ha ha.”

“Actually, could I have some?” Mia asked.

Serena lit the stove and rummaged for the pot. “I’ll make it,” she said, glad her sister was there to distract Mia. They got along so well, considering the difference in their chronological ages. Was there something about being only three physical years apart?

By the time the coffee was fully steeped, Jade, Sylvando, and Rab had joined them, along with several members of the kitchen staff, all of whom seemed mortified that so many of their distinguished guests had risen before them.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Sylvando said. “Everyone had to celebrate last night! You deserve the morning off.” He bustled through the room, assisting the chef with his usual flare, juggling fruit onto people’s plates, slicing bacon by throwing knives, and balancing platters on his head.

They moved into the dining room to find Lars, Sesqui, Oskar, and the generals already present. Erik and El were the last to arrive.

El wore an expression of such intensity, Serena’s heart broke for him. Such responsibility to bear the mark of Yggdrasil’s chosen! Even though he knew they would all do anything to help him, some small part of him must always feel set apart and lonely. Well! She would prove to him right now that he could rely on her.

“Oh, El,” she cried, quieting the room, “you’re here! Wonderful! I must tell you about the vision Yggdrasil granted me this morning.” She gestured to the table and everyone took their seats. “I found myself below the First Forest, somewhere northeast of here, I think, right against the cliffs. There was a girl there, perhaps Lars’ age, with a Jowler, of all things, and I sensed she was in grave danger. She was being pursued by some dark force!”

El put a hand to his chin, eyebrows knit. “What does it mean? Is it symbolic of something?”

“I believe she’s real,” Serena said. “Somehow she’s an emissary of Yggdrasil. To us. If we find her, I think we find Beatrice and Hendrik.”

Lars looked back and forth between Serena and El. “Is she for real?” he asked El. “Like, visions and everything?”

El chuckled in spite of himself. “Serena is absolutely for real.” He looked up at the priestess. “So. Where do we find her?”

Lars answered for Serena. “We head north along the plateau. We were going to go in that direction anyway. Now we know to stay in close to the cliffs.” He glanced back toward Sir Aldrich, Sir Brock, and Don Mateo. “The Generals are going to muster a small force, maybe 250, to search the mountains north of the World Tree,” he said. “But we can go ahead of them and find this girl, right? Find out what she knows?”

Oskar sighed. “Lars, did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much. Lord Robert finally had to cast _snooze_ on me.” He shot Rab a sheepish look.

 _Thank you,_ Oskar mouthed to Rab, who grinned and nodded in reply.

“So when do we leave?” Lars asked.

El stood and walked around the table to Lars. He picked up a slice of bacon and held it out, touching the boy first on one shoulder, then the other. “Okay, Sir Lars, master tactician of Dundrasil, as soon as we eat, we’ll head out.” Serena and the others broke into laughter and applause. “Now, I suggest you confer with the priestess over breakfast to get as many details as you can.”

Lars saluted and plopped down next to Serena. She glanced over his head to see the momentary mirth vanish from El’s face as he returned to his chair, munching on the bacon as he went. She prayed Yggdrasil’s peace and guidance upon him, then turned her attention to the poor child whose fierce loyalty and deep fear had turned him into the most driven person she had ever known…other than Hendrik. _Oh, Hendrik. We’re coming!_


	45. Chapter 45

_ One Day Before the New Moon: Morning _

Beatrice

Two labradrakes stood in the outer yard of the Dark Lady’s fortress, their great, shaggy snouts blowing steam into the cool morning. A servant loaded the seven books, carefully wrapped in linen, into a saddle bag on one of the dragons’ flanks. Marcus lifted Beatrice onto the other mount’s back, securing her hands in front of her to the saddle before climbing up behind her and circling her waist with his arms. She forced down revulsion at his touch, willing herself to focus straight in front of her at the jagged grey horn that jutted from the thick gold fur between the labradrake’s ears.

The sound of the gate creaking open heralded the arrival of Hendrik, dressed once again in his blue tunic and black-and-white cloak, his upper arms held by a pair of knights abhorrent. At the sight of him, a wave of emotion swept through Beatrice—love and fear and grief—and she held his eyes until the knights lashed him face down to the neck of the other labradrake, a human saddlebag completely immobilized for the safety of the beast’s other rider.

The Dark Lady herself appeared last, her long hair bound into a tight braid and coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore black leather riding clothes and a fur-lined cloak and boots, and swept up onto the Labradrake’s back with such fluidity of motion, Beatrice wondered if she hadn’t actually flown. She planted her feet against Hendrik’s body to assure herself he was secure before lowering them into the stirrups and grasping the rein.

Beatrice turned back to the dragon’s horn in front of her. “Where’s your squire?” she asked Markus. She couldn’t imagine Elvan would be left out of the grand finale, after all he’d contributed to this hellish nightmare.

“I’m _not_ his squire,” the labradrake growled from beneath her.

She shook her head. “No, now you’re his trusty steed,” she muttered, and kicked the side of his neck.

“Behave,” Markus said in her ear. “Or you’ll ride like Hendrik.”

The Dark Lady snapped her reins and her dragon leapt into the air, its leathery green wings pumping as it ascended. Elvan followed, throwing Beatrice back into Markus’ chest. Markus tightened his grip around her, his knees digging into the labradrake’s furred sides. Her stomach dropped as they rose, and she was almost grateful to have been bound to the pommel of the saddle. She had vague memories of the dragon ride to the fortress, but she had been so senseless then, she hadn’t really been aware of the height or the lurching motion. This was a different experience entirely, and she squeezed her eyes shut rather than watch the ground drop away beneath her. It was going to be a long two days. Then again, with any luck, she’d throw up all over Markus. She could only hope.

_ One Day Before the New Moon: Evening _

Isabella

Darkness pooled in the hollows beneath the First Forest as the sun vanished from the already overcast sky. Isabella dug a hole to cook the pair of pheasants Javier had caught while she had been assembling a crude shelter from fallen branches. If it rained, she absolutely could not get her back wet—it would destroy the precious pages Beatrice had inked, and all would be lost. How cruel if she were to be thwarted not by soldiers, but by a chance thunderstorm!

She lit a small fire with her flint and tinder, feeding it twigs and strips of bark until a bed of bright coals lit her face with an orange glow. Careful not to extinguish it, she laid in the wrapped meat, then covered it loosely with broad, flat rocks from the stream bed. She waited to be sure the smoke continued to rise through the vents before pulling the last of the rabbit from her pack and eating it.

Javier had fed himself while on his hunt, or at least, he seemed to indicate that he had, and now curled up under the lean-to. Isabella joined him there, leaning into his warm wrinkly belly. If nothing else, she supposed he could keep her back dry while they slept. But she could hardly ride under him the next day if the rain continued.

For the moment, she contented herself just to be still. Javier had kept up his impressive pace for about thirty minutes at a clip, with thirty-minute walks between. She had no idea of the distance they’d covered, only that they were now headed more south than east. The urgency that had driven her much of the day waned with the light; even mounted soldiers would have to stop while it was dark. Then there was the vague hope that her dream from the previous night had been more than a dream, and someone was coming to help her. Who and from where she had no idea. But it was hope nonetheless.

With a full stomach and a warm companion, Isabella quickly drifted off.

_ The Day of the New Moon: Morning _

Lars

_Snooze_ was great for falling asleep, but it didn’t do much for staying asleep. As he stared up at the branches overhead, Lars reflected that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt rested. Yet the drive to keep going had lent him an almost supernatural endurance. Even so, the fact that he’d managed to keep his wits astonished him. He didn’t sleep for a week straight after his family was killed right in front of him, and it had made him delirious. Maybe this time it was hope that sustained him. Or delusion. No. He had to believe she was still alive, that they both were.

The camp was silent, save for the occasional snorting of the horses and the sound of water dripping from the trees. Lars rolled up his damp blanket and crept to the fire. Though it had been properly banked, the rain that had fallen overnight had been heavy enough to extinguish it. He pulled away the top layer of wet, charred wood in the hopes of finding something dryer underneath.

Sesqui appeared at his shoulder with a few branches in his claws. “I found these under an overhang in the cliff,” he said. “Dry.” He broke them into smaller pieces and laid them on the damp remains. After a few murmured words, a flame appeared at his finger tip and he held it to the kindling. Nothing happened.

“Can I help?” Veronica plunked down next to Lars and pulled small fireball into existence between her fingers. Resting the heels of her hands on the stones, she willed it into the center of the wood, then spread her arms apart. The fireball grew until it engulfed the dry wood and the wet with it, then shrank back into a nice, cheery blaze.

“Thanks,” said Sesqui. “You’re really good at that.”

“Years of practice,” she replied with a smile. “When this is all over, I’ll be happy to give you some lessons.”

The dragon’s eyes widened. “Wow. That would be wonderful.”

“Well, it’s the least I can do after you helped get El out of the castle.” She turned to Lars. “I know El already said it, but you’re fucking amazing.”

Sesqui raised an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly what he said.”

“Close enough. Who wants coffee?” She hopped up, retrieved the pot from the stones and headed for the nearby creek.

The rest of the camp came to life around them, and a short while later the entire party sat in a ring around the fire, eating and drinking and chatting in hushed tones, their hoods over their heads to keep out the rain. They rode out twenty minutes later, two by two. El and Erik set the pace at a brisk trot, staying close to the cliffs, just as they had the previous day. No one spoke as they went. The combination of the miserable weather and a sense of unease created a doubly dreary atmosphere that seemed to suck the life out of everyone. Even the hoof beats and the jingling of horse tack sounded muffled against the steady downfall.

Two hours passed in oppressive near-silence, then Sesqui said, “Blood,” and stopped jogging. Lars reined in his horse, Oskar and Sylvando following suit.

“El!” called Sylvando. The other six horses circled back and stood stamping in the rain.

“Tell them, Sesqui,” Lars said.

The dragon pulled at his whiskers. “We dragons can smell blood. At great distances.” He looked worriedly from face to face. “And I smell blood.”

“Where?” asked El.

Sesqui closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Oh, oh it’s fresh blood,” he said. “But not human.”

“That’s a relief,” Serena said, her shoulders dropping.

“Well…not all of it.”

Erik stood in his stirrups his left hand twitching by the boomerang at his waist. “Come on, Sesqui, you gotta give us more.”

“Up ahead,” Sesqui said. “Maybe half a mile.”

El wheeled his mount, raising his hand and swinging it forward and down. “Go!” he cried, and kicked into a gallop. The others followed close behind.

Thunder rolled from over the plateau, shaking the ground, driving the sense of urgency. Branches whipped against Lars’ face and arms as he ducked around trees, trying to maintain as straight a path as possible. _Please please please don’t let us be too late!_

“Sesqui, what do you know?” shouted Jade over the rising wind.

“The rain is making it hard to tell,” he shouted back. “Not far now, I think.”

They descended into a shallow ravine with a rushing creek at its base. Lars’ horse cleared it in a single jump, while Sesqui ran right through it, sending a spray of water outward in every direction. No one complained. On the other side, the ground rose back up under a dense copse of oak and birch, and Lars had to duck under low boughs to avoid being knocked from his saddle.

“Oh! There!” cried Serena, her voice anguished. Lars burst through the trees. On the leaf bed, a huge, pale green creature with a blue mane lay in a pool of blood and water. The priestess leapt from her saddle and ran to the beast’s side.

“Serena, that’s a wild animal!” shouted Rab. “Dinnae get too close!”

“It’s the jowler from my vision! I’m sure of it!”

Oskar dropped to his knees beside her and ran a hand over the jowler’s nose. “It’s breathing,” he said. “Can you help it?”

“Where’s the girl?” Lars shouted, searching their surroundings. “Sesqui, do you see anything?” The dragon stretched to his full height and peered off into the trees.

“Over here!” called Jade. “Horses.” She pointed to tracks in the mud. “They’ve gone this way!”

Lars kicked his mount’s flank, hard, and launched into a gallop. Sesqui took off after him.

“Lars! Wait!” El yelled.

A flash of lightning lit the dismal woods, casting the trees in sharp relief as Lars rode. The tracks were clearly visible—a lot of horses by the look if it. And something that wasn’t a horse. Lars didn’t care. If they lost their one chance to find Beatrice, he didn’t know what he’d do. He kicked his horse harder, snapping the reins. Sesqui passed him, his great feet kicking up mud and water. A crash of thunder heralded the arrival of a massive downpour, rain pelting the earth with ferocity.

Up ahead, a dozen horses appeared through the misty half-light, some ridden by men, others by monsters. A bizarre robot walked alongside them—a large metal egg-shape on two chicken-like legs. They did not appear to be in any hurry, and the howling wind and pounding rain covered the sound of their pursuers.

Driven, but not stupid, Lars slowed his horse, allowing the others to catch up. “Good lad,” Rab said in Lars’ ear as he passed, his wicked-looking claws ready for a fight. El pointed left and right, then made a circle over his head. He led the charge, banking to the right and sweeping outward in a wide arc with Erik and Rab behind him. Jade, Sylvando, and Veronica went the other direction. Lars and Sesqui brought up the rear, hoping to prevent anyone from thinking it was a good idea to turn back and run the other way.

Their quarry caught sight of El and Jade, and their horses reared in panic before launching into a gallop. Erik stood in his stirrups and loosed his twin boomerangs, knocking most of the riders to the ground in a single strike. Jade dropped from her mount, lashing out with her powerful feet and taking out a goobonce and a bloodbonnet, while simultaneously spooking two more horses, which promptly threw their riders.

“The girl!” Lars shouted. “Where is she?”

As if in answer, the egg-shaped robot suddenly leapt over the entire melee and began running at an unbelievable pace.

“On my back!” cried Sesqui. “I’m faster than your horse!”

Without hesitation, Lars jumped from his saddle and grabbed the dragon around the neck. Sesqui hurtled forward, his tail extending straight behind him, massive legs tearing up the mud beneath them. Lightning lit the sky, reflecting off the purple and blue metal of their prey. Thunder followed, echoed by an explosion from somewhere behind them. The sounds of battle receded, drowned out by the storm and distance.

“Faster!” screamed Lars, and Sesqui complied, leaning forward, his long snout slicing through the sheets of rain, whiskers flying. They gained on the fleeing robot, then overtook it. Lars drew his sword and brought it down with all his might on the robot’s leg. The metal monster’s knee-joint buckled and it went into a bouncing roll, then smashed into a tree. Lars jumped to the mud and pointed his weapon at the oval-shaped opening below its headlight. Two red eyes peered out in horror.

“Don’t kill me! You can have her! You can have her!”

With a hiss of steam, to the top of the egg opened and a pair of orange hands shoved a human-sized bundle through the wide hatch. Lars dropped to his knees and pulled at the rough fabric, while the hatch closed again.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sesqui said, lifting the robot by its leg and dangling it above the ground.

The sacking fell away to reveal a girl’s face, her dark eyes huge and round, a gag tied around her mouth. Blood covered the right side of her face from her hairline down onto her neck.

Lars yanked the cloth down over her chin.

“For Yggdrasil’s sake,” she cried, “don’t let me get wet!”

“Huh?”

“I have an important message for someone,” she said, panic in her voice. “It’s tied to my back. If it gets wet, all is lost!”

Sesqui set the robot back into the mud and sat on it, then bent his body over the girl, providing some shelter. Lars helped her sit, then pulled the fabric bag down from around her body to find that she’d been bound hand and foot. He took out his knife and leaned forward.

“Is Javier okay?” she said in his ear as he sawed through the ropes. “Oh, please tell me he’s okay.” She sounded as if she might cry.

“You mean the jowler?” Sesqui asked.

“I mean Javier. My friend. Big and green, with a blue mane. He tried to save me.” Having freed her, Lars sat back to see tears tracking down her face.

“I think he’s okay,” he said. “Oskar said he was breathing. And Serena’s a healer. I think she was going to help him. I…I didn’t stay to find out. I had to find you. Serena said you were an emissary from Yggdrasil. That you could help us find my friends Beatrice and Hendrik.”

The girl closed her eyes and heaved an enormous sigh, which ended in a sob. “Oh, it wasn’t a dream! Oh, oh thank Yggdrasil!” She shuddered, the tears coming fast.

Lars had no idea what to do. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s…uh…all okay now.” He glanced back into the pouring rain. “How on Erdrea are we going to keep you dry?”

Wiping tears, she struggled to her feet. “We just need to keep the paper dry,” she said. Still safely in Sesqui’s shadow, she flung her cloak forward over one shoulder, then reached for the hem of her dress and began raising it toward her head.

“What…what are you doing?!?” Heat rose to Lars’ face and he turned away, holding his hands over his eyes.

“Oh get over yourself,” she said, exasperated. “You need to cut the message from my back.”

Opening a gap between two fingers, Lars looked back to see her holding her dress up to her shoulders. A grey ribbon was wrapped multiple times over her linen shift. Assured of her ample covering, he dropped his hands and pulled out his knife, circling behind her. As she had said, a packet of parchment was bound within the ribbon. “Dry your hands on my shift,” she commanded, and Lars blushed again, but complied, reaching down to a dry section below her knee, and removing as much moisture as he could from his skin.

Taking hold of one corner of the parchment, he slid the blade through several layers of silk and sliced upward, severing the ribbon into pieces. They fell away and drifted to the ground at her feet. Lars extricated the papers, and she dropped her dress and turned around. Drying her own hands on her clothes, she took the precious package from him and slid it down into the front of her bodice. Dear Yggdrasil, she had to stop doing things like that!

Shrugging her cloak back over her shoulders and pulling it tightly around her, she said, “I’m Isabella. Who are you?”

Lars couldn’t find his tongue.

“I’m Sesqui,” the dragon said. “And this is Lars.”

“Thank you Sesqui and Lars,” Isabella said.

“You’re welcome,” Lars finally managed. “Let’s get back to the others.”

Isabella gestured to the eggsoskeleton still face down in the mud. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Let it go?” came a hopeful squeak from within the robotic armor.

Lars slapped his knife against the metal before sheathing it. “Not a chance. We can’t have you running off and telling someone where we are.”

“Never!” the creature cried. “She’d kill me if she found out I’d lost the girl. I was just going to disappear, never to be heard from again.”

Isabella snorted. “Not likely.”

“I can carry him back to the others,” Sesqui said. “You can both ride on my back if you want.”

Lars goggled, then blinked before Isabella noticed. “You can ride,” he said to her. “I’ll walk.”

“Come now,” Sesqui insisted. “Plenty of room for two, and I’m more than strong enough.”

Lars gritted his teeth. Why did Sesqui have to be so damn nice?

“I’ve never ridden a dragon before,” Isabella said with an actual smile. Her already pretty face transformed into a vision of utter beauty. Lars’ stomach flipped. “The Dark Lady sometimes uses them for transport, and I’ve always wondered what it’s like.”

Sesqui grinned and leaned forward. “Hop aboard!”

Isabella scrambled up and wrapped her legs around his neck above his shoulders. “Your spinal ridge is a little uncomfortable,” she said, and adjusted her cloak between her thighs. “That’s better. Coming, Lars?”

 _Nice choice of words_. “I guess.” He climbed up behind her and debated what to do with his hands. Could he hold onto the dragon’s shoulders under Isabella’s legs? That seemed like a bad idea. Sesqui started forward and Lars instinctively grabbed onto the girl’s waist, lest he tumble off. _Oh, Yggdrasil…_

The dragon’s gait was awkward with two riders and an eggsoskeleton in one hand, but he still managed an impressive pace back through the pouring rain. “Are you staying dry enough?” Lars asked, as water ran down his face.

“So far,” she called back over her shoulder.

Not a moment later, Jade and Sylvando emerged from the misty grey, and reined in their horses. “Lars! Thank goodness!” Jade cried. “You found our mystery girl!”

“Darling, you’re a vision,” Sylvando said. “¡ _Eres de Puerto Valor_!”

“ _Sí._ _¿Y usted es Sylvando, el famoso artista de circo?_ ”

Sylvando bowed deeply, water running off him in every direction. _“_ _¡_ _Por supuesto!_ But I never performed in Puerto Valor before the last six months. Have you seen me there?”

Lars frowned. “Hey. I don’t speak Valorian,” he said.

“Sorry, honey,” Sylvando said. “I could tell she was from my home country, and she recognized me as a circus performer.” He turned back to Isabella, and extended a hand. “What’s your name, darling?”

“Isabella,” she said, taking it.

“ _Encantadora._ As lovely as you.”

“I’m sorry,” Isabella said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a message for the Luminary and if it gets wet, we’re all in terrible trouble.”

“Of course,” Jade said, pulling her cloak tighter. “Let’s get back to the cliffs and find some shelter.”


	46. Chapter 46

_ The Day of the New Moon: Mid-Morning _

El

The jowler stood on his back legs, peering into the forest, every so often uttering a low, moaning sound. Serena and Veronica secured all the enemies’ horses to trees until Sir Brock’s men could come collect them. El, Erik and Oskar set about building a temporary shelter against the cliff wall, lashing fallen branches to tree trunks and covering them with travel blankets, cloaks, and as much brush as they could find. Rab carried stones to build a fire pit at the opening of the lean-to.

The wind had died down, along with the heaviest of the rain, but El still felt like a drowned rat. He shoved his sodden hair out of his face and lifted an armful of leafy branches onto the scaffolding of sticks and leather. He only hoped that when the shelter was done, it would be water-tight enough for everyone to have a chance to dry out. “How is it in there?” he called to Rab.

“Not much dripping anymore,” came the disembodied reply. “A little on the left side.”

“Left looking in or looking out?”

“In.”

El trudged out toward the thicker part of the forest, drawing his knife from his belt. He had hacked through three good-sized branches when he heard the jowler let out a bizarre laugh/howl. Curious, he turned and trotted back to the camp. The great creature was hopping from one hind leg to the other, its long arms raised. Following its gaze, El caught sight of Sesqui and the others. _Thank Yggdrasil!_

“Javier!” a high, sweet voice called out.

The jowler gave another howl in response and crossed the distance between them on its knuckles, with surprising speed.

Lars leapt from Sesqui’s back and offered a hand up for the new arrival. She took it and dropped to the ground, her cloak billowing out around her, then threw her arms around the big green creature’s neck. It nuzzled her head, knocking back her hood. She laughed and stepped back, looking at him with a luminous smile. “Oh, thank goodness you’re alright!”

“Thank Yggdrasil _you’re_ alright!” Serena called out, running over to her.

“You,” she said to Serena, breathless. “I dreamed about you.”

Serena took the girl’s hands. “It wasn’t a dream,” she said. “More of a shared vision. What is your name?”

“Isabella,” the girl replied. “And you’re Serena?”

“I am.”

Isabella hugged her. “You saved Javier,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

Serena smiled. “My pleasure.”

“Oh!” Isabella cried, looking down at the front of her cloak. “I need to get somewhere dry right now!” Serena led her to the almost-finished lean-to, and she heaved a sigh of relief. “Which one of you is the Luminary?” Isabella asked, peering at the group of men and women now gathered around her.

El stepped forward, joining her under the shelter. “I am,” he said.

She closed her eyes, her whole body seeming to sag where she stood, and tears began spilling down her bronze cheeks. “I made it,” she said softly. “Oh, Beatrice, Hendrik, I made it. I found him.” The tears fell harder as she reached into the front of her dress and pulled out a packet of parchment. “This is for you. Beatrice said it contains everything you need to stop the Dark Lady from bringing back Calasmos. But we’re almost out of time. The ritual has to happen on the new moon, and that’s tonight.”

El wiped his hands on the only semi-dry spot he could find on one of the blankets overhead, then took the papers from Isabella. As soon as they left the girl’s fingers, a small smile crept across her face and she collapsed where she stood. Before he could even react, Serena dropped to her knees at the girl’s side.

“She has a head wound,” she said. “Most of the blood washed off in the rain, but there’s still some in her hair and around her neckline. Oh, I should have noticed right away!” She laid her hand above the girl’s ear and closed her eyes. A moment later, Isabella shifted under Serena’s touch, but didn’t regain consciousness. “I’ve healed her,” Serena said, “but I think she’s as much exhausted as injured. Can we find a dry place for her to rest?”

Javier crouched just outside the shelter, with his arms and head underneath. He lifted Isabella and cradled her under his chin while she slept.

Everyone else rushed about, collecting materials to finish making the shelter water-tight, clearing out the ground inside the lean-to, dragging in stones for people to sit on, and building a roaring fire. Jade brought all the saddle bags under the roof and set them along one side, creating a water-proof barrier to keep ground runoff out. She fished a bundle of dry clothes out of her pack, hung her cloak from the roof like a curtain in the back corner, and disappeared behind it.

“What’cha got there, Sesqui?” Veronica asked, staring up at the robot. “Looks like a runny eggsoskeleton.”

The dragon set the metal egg down in the mud. “Yes. Isabella was inside it, along with the creature still in here.”

“You didn’t kill it?” Veronica peered into the opening, and two red eyes blinked back at her.

“We didn’t want to hurt Isabella,” Sesqui said.

The wizard snapped a flame into existence over her finger. “Well, she’s not in there anymore.”

“Wait! Don’t kill me! Please!”

“Why not? You’re evil.” The flame grew into a small ball of fire.

Serena put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Actually, he’s not. At least, he doesn’t have an aura.”

“It’s a job,” came the little voice from within the armor. “I get fed. A place to live.”

Erik stooped down. “Wait. You’re telling me you willingly went to work for someone called ‘the Dark Lady?’”

“Yeah.”

“So,” the thief said, “not evil. But clearly stupid.”

“I prefer ‘misguided,’” the voice said.

Veronica held the fireball threateningly over the eggsoskeleton. “You! Come out of there.”

With a hissing noise, the hatch opened, and a pair of horns appeared, followed by the dome of an orange head and a pair of wide, pointed ears. It stopped when the little red eyes cleared the rim. “Is it safe?” he asked.

“You’re a gleeful grublin!” Erik said. “Is that what’s inside all these things?” He kicked the robot armor.

“Not that I know of,” the grublin said. “I was told I was filling a vacancy.”

Jade leaned out of the tent and looked down. “If he’s not evil, fine, but we don’t want him listening to this conversation. Sesqui, why don’t you go secure him over there, by that horse.”

“Out in the rain?” the little monster complained.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Veronica said. “Just imagine the alternative.” She ducked into the lean-to and went to change.

“Oh yes,” it said. “I’m fine out in the rain, then.” Sesqui wandered off with his little prisoner, leaving the abandoned mech in the mud.

“Who’s next?” Veronica called as she emerged in her dry outfit.

One by one, they dried off and donned their spare clothing, hanging the wet garments from the edges of the ceiling. The fire cast bright light as well as heat into the semi-enclosed space and before long, everyone was sitting side by side, basking in the warmth. All eyes were on El.

He opened the folded parchment and began to read aloud to the group, his high, clear voice annunciating every word: The origin of the books and the library in which they were housed, the mechanism of the ritual and the key, and the anti-ritual cleverly hidden within the books by the author’s still-lingering alter ego. Warnings about the dark desires the books would kick up in the readers, and even moreso in any bystanders hearing the books read aloud. Specific instructions on where each person was to stand, including diagrams of the library, the exact page and exact couplet in each book on which to begin, the moment at which to draw blood and let it fall to the floor. And finally, the fact of Beatrice’s own role in the dark ritual, and how the luminary must stand in her place to thwart it.

When he had finished reading, they all stared at one another in silence for several moments. At length, El said, “There are seven of us without Hendrik. Could Morcant have known that even then?”

“The Seer always had more knowledge than I ever thought possible,” Erik said, running a hand through his finally-dry hair, spiking it. “And she was Morcant’s alter-ego.”

Oskar glanced out of the shelter. “How long will it take Cetacea to reach Sniflheim?”

“She’s fast,” Rab said. “We’ll easily make it by moonrise.”

“We have no idea what we’ll find there,” Jade said, resting her fists on her knees. “Except we know the Dark Lady’s assassins will all be present.”

Sylvando stroked his chin. “We’ve already beaten them once, darling. How bad could it be?”

“But what if she brings others?” Jade asked. “Soldiers? Monsters? We could be walking into another horde.”

“She’ll for sure have Markus with her. And Elvan.” All eyes flew over to where Isabella lay in Javier’s massive arms. She pushed herself up, and the Jowler lowered his hands to the ground so that she could stand. Jade indicated a space on a stone next to her. The girl walked over, still unsteady on her feet, and sat down.

“Any others?” El asked.

“I don’t think so. When she travels, which is almost never, she usually goes by labradrake. She only has the one, and then Elvan turns into a second one to carry Markus. She would have had to take Beatrice and Hendrik with her, too, and that would have been all the dragons could carry over distance, I think.” She frowned, her grey eyes unfocusing. “I don’t really know, though. I’m only a slave. And it’s only been the last year that I’ve been allowed to see anything that goes on in the fortress.”

“How long have you been there, _querida_?” asked Sylvando, his hooded eyes holding sympathy.

“Three years,” she said.

Veronica scowled. “Well, you’re not a slave anymore!” she said, hands on her hips. “And you never have to go back there, wherever it was.”

Isabella’s eyes went glassy. “I hope not,” she whispered.

“Lars,” El said, “I need you and Sesqui to stay here with Isabella. Protect her until Sir Brock’s men get here—probably tomorrow.”

“No!” Lars cried, leaping to his feet. “I’m going with you to the library!”

Oskar said, “Be reasonable, Lars. You’ve done everything you can. Rescued the Luminary _and_ Yggdrasil’s emissary.” He gestured to Isabella. “Now let Prince El and his friends do their part.”

“You don’t understand,” Lars said. “I have to go. I have to help.” Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “Please.”

Sesqui put a claw into the tent and rested it on Lars’ shoulder. “I can stay with Isabella,” he said. “In fact, I can take her back to Dundrasil. It would be no trouble at all. But Lars should go with you.”

El regarded the dragon, brow furrowed. “Why so?”

“Because he’s probably the smartest person here, no offense.” He pulled at his whisker. “And he knows the library better than anyone. You’ll need more than just Oskar as back-up, too. Even if Lars isn’t a great fighter yet, he makes up for it with ingenuity. And besides,” he shot a glance at his friend before continuing, “he already lost his whole family once. He can’t just stand by and let it happen again.”

Lars’ tears started falling, but he held his frown and his rigid stance, determination coming off him in waves. El sighed. He himself had been so inexperienced and naïve walking out of Cobblestone to his destiny almost two years ago. Already at thirteen, Lars had far more going for him than El did then. Who was he to tell the boy he was too young to fulfill what might be _his_ destiny? He stood and held out a hand to Lars. “If I could have officially knighted you, with bacon or otherwise, I would have. I would be honored to have your help.”

Lars took El’s hand and shook it.

“Right, that’s settled, “Rab said. “Now, let’s nae waste any more time. We’ll need sustenance before we fight.” He began rummaging through the saddlebags, drawing out food for everyone.

Veronica stretched. “We’re going to need to memorize where to start in which books. We have no idea where we’re going to wind up when we get there.”

“And we’re going to have to _get_ the books first, honey,” Sylvando said.

As the group began planning in earnest over an early lunch, El watched Lars slip out of the tent and give Sesqui a hug. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” the boy said.

In spite of everything, El smiled.


	47. Chapter 47

_ The Day of the New Moon: Evening _

Beatrice

The labradrakes circled once, then glided to a landing in the snow. The setting sun vanished behind the tree line as they descended, engulfing them in deep shadow. Beatrice thanked Yggdrasil that the flight was over even as the reality of having reached their destination gripped her heart with crushing dread. Markus slid to the ground and reached back to untie the rope binding her wrists to the saddle. After looping the rope over his shoulder, he pulled Beatrice down and clutched her arm, holding her close beside him. “Coming, Elvan?”

The shaggy dragon stretched his back. “I think I’ll wait for the others,” he said.

“Fine then, keep an eye on Hendrik.”

The other labradrake, an ornery dragon by the name of Memreth, growled. “Come on. You gotta get him off my neck. The guy weighs a ton and I’ve been carrying him for two straight days. I’m gonna need some serious deep tissue massage.”

“You’re a fucking dragon,” Markus said, scowling, then relented. “Hold this,” he snapped at Elvan, shoving Beatrice toward him. Elvan sat back on his hind legs and circled Beatrice’s waist with his scaly green front claws.

The Dark Lady remained motionless as Markus loosed his knife and cut Hendrik free from the beast’s neck. The knight stood upright and started to stretch, but Markus snatched his wrists and yanked them behind his back, securing them with some of the rope he’d just cut. Hendrik did not resist, though he winced at Markus’ rough handling, and Beatrice knew he must be terribly sore from the way he had traveled.

As Markus pulled Hendrik away from Memreth, the Dark Lady descended from the dragon’s back and drew the books out of the saddle bag, cradling them in her arms as though they were her children. She made her way toward the door of the library without waiting for the others.

“Trade,” Markus said, and shoved Hendrik toward Elvan, who relinquished Beatrice and pulled Hendrik into his claws.

As she passed him, Beatrice caressed Hendrik’s face and whispered, “I love you.”

“And I, you,” he murmured, his eyes rich with emotion. “Go with Yggdrasil.”

Markus grabbed hold of her wrist and dragged her away. “Enough of that nonsense,” he spat. “We have work to do.” Beatrice stumbled through the snow after him, pain shooting up her arm from his crushing grip. They caught up with the Dark Lady at the door, and Markus lifted the latch, pushing the great, wooden portal inward and waiting for his master to enter in front of him.

The familiar feel, scent, and sight of the royal library enveloped Beatrice, filling her with mingled joy and grief. She had stood there only ten days prior, but it felt like years.

“We have until the moon rises, Beatrice of Dundrasil,” the Dark Lady said, her colorless eyes fastening on the scholar’s. “It is time to fulfill your destiny as the vainglorious liaison. Direct us where to go.”

Beatrice glanced down at Markus’ hand, still clamped around her wrist. “I’ll need my arm back,” she said. The pale woman nodded and Markus let go, but remained close. “Do you have gloves?”

“What’s wrong with the ones you’re wearing?” Markus asked.

“Too thick and rough. The soft cloth ones are best for handling ancient texts.”

He sighed. “What does it matter? In a short time, the ritual will be over and we won’t need the damned things anymore. Why bother trying to preserve them?”

“Markus speaks rightly,” came the Dark Lady’s emotionless voice. “There is no time for unnecessary action. Many of the vessels will not be able to wear such gloves anyway.”

Beatrice frowned. The very idea of handling thousand-year-old documents without the appropriate protection was anathema to her. But what choice did she have? “Hand me the books. One at a time.” She peeled off her winter gloves and took the first into her bare hands. It sent a mild jolt of energy up her arms, and at once, the whispering pulse began sounding in her head. She took a deep breath, steadying her mind, and slid a finger under the cover, opening it to the first page. “Greed,” she said. “This one is fifth in the key.” One by one, she looked at the books and put them in order in her arms. The vibrations of sinister power grew with each one added to the pile, until the interwoven threads of chaos and darkness had enveloped Beatrice completely, filling her with eager anticipation and terror in equal measure.

Willing herself calm, she handed the stack back to the Dark Lady, relief and release flooding her the moment they left her hands. “You feel their power already,” the pale woman said.

Beatrice nodded. “Do you not, when you hold them?”

“I do not,” she replied, and regarded the scholar for long moments with her unnerving eyes. “Calasmos chose wisely. You were born for this.”

Inwardly, Beatrice screamed, _No!_ She could not—would not!—believe all of this was preordained. The choice _had_ to be hers. She refused to accept that knowledge of her gleaned through dark powers a thousand years ago would determine the outcome of this night. She said only, “It makes no sense to do anything further until the vessels arrive. I will have to instruct them where to stand and where and when to begin reading one at a time.”

“I expect them any moment,” the Dark Lady said. “We shall remain here until then.”

Hendrik

It had been an uncomfortable two days. Even with a stop to rest the previous night, there hadn’t been a single moment Hendrik had been free to move. Every muscle in his body ached and all he wanted at that moment was to stretch. He leaned to one side, and then another in Elvan’s grip.

“What are you doing?” the dragon asked.

“Trying to ease some of the soreness,” he replied.

Elvan raised a shaggy brow. “I don’t imagine the trip was all that enjoyable for you,” he said. “Not that I care, of course. But here, I tell you what.” He lifted Hendrik off the ground and tipped him back, letting his body dangle. “How’s that feel?”

The stretch through Hendrik’s chest and abdominal muscles was nothing short of glorious. “Dear Yggdrasil,” he murmured, arching even further. His spine and neck popped in multiple places. Elvan turned him onto first one side, then the other, and Hendrik hung limp like a rag doll, letting the weight of his own body pull against the tightness in his sides, waist, and hips. “May I stretch my legs?” he asked as Elvan lowered him back to his feet. The dragon loosened his grip slightly and Hendrik sank into a series of lunges, gritting his teeth as heat flared in his calves and thighs. “I know this is asking a lot,” he said then, “but I do need to relieve myself quite terribly.”

“Oh, come on, do you think I’m stupid?” The dragon slapped his furry tail into the snow. “I’m sure as hell not going to hold it for you, and the minute I cut those ropes, you’re out of here.”

Hendrik regarded the labradrake coolly. “I will not leave here without Beatrice.”

Elvan sighed. “Are you always so damn earnest?” He picked Hendrik up again and carried him to a nearby tree, then sliced through the bonds with his claw. “Tell me when you’re done,” he grumbled. At length, Hendrik tapped him on the shoulder. “Better?” Elvan asked, locking his sharp talons around the knight’s midsection.

“I do not know what has possessed you to be so kind,” Hendrik said, “but you have my thanks.”

Elvan chuckled. “Don’t mistake boredom for kindness,” he said. “I can’t wait for this whole damn thing to just be over.” He lumbered back through the snow to Memreth.

“And what is your reward?” the knight asked.

“What do you mean?”

Hendrik looked up into the labradrake’s yellow-green eyes. “Surely you are being rewarded for your part in bringing the Dark Lady’s plans to fruition.”

“Ah.” Elvan scratched behind his ear with his rear claw. “You know, the usual. Power, money, women, my own private island—I’m thinking Insula Orientalis, though I’ll need to get rid of all the slimes.” He shuddered. Hendrik was about to press Elvan further when the dragon suddenly raised his head and looked skyward. “Show time,” he said.

Hendrik followed his gaze. From over the eastern hills, six silhouettes appeared against the pale lights of the aurora. The dark patches grew until six dragons, either with riders or carrying passengers, lit in the snow around them. These must be the vessels Beatrice had spoken of: a headless hunter, an iron maiden, a deadnaut, a hooper trooper, a towering loss leader, and a massive coralotl. He sized each of them up. He only needed to kill one of them to prevent the ritual from reaching completion. He would be watching and waiting for the first opportunity.

Hendrik

Elvan moved among the monsters, healing them from the beatings they’d received in Dundrasil. Beatrice stood on the bottom step, her eyes travelling from one to the next as one by one, the dragons that had borne them hence leapt into the air and flew off whence they’d come. A frown crossed her face, and her brow furrowed.

“You’ll nae even fit through the door,” she said to the coralotl. “How on Erdrea can you stand in the position where I found the second book?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Right. You’ll have to stand outside the building, but in exactly the right spot.” She turned where she stood and looked up. “And that’s right here.” She glared up at the loss leader next. “And you! You’re greed.”

“I’m Indignus,” the giant said.

“Nae tonight, you’re nae,” Beatrice said. “I dinnae suppose you could crawl through the doors, then.” She frowned. “Never mind. Follow me. You too, Elvan.” She set off around the east side of the building, Indignus, Markus, and Elvan carrying Hendrik trailing in her wake. “I found this book on the third floor right in this spot. You’ll have to climb a bit to be in the right position.” She glanced around. “There’s nae any light back here. Can we find the giant a lantern?”

“Get a lantern over here,” Markus shouted back over his shoulder. Long moments passed before Memreth crunched over through the snow, a glowing lamp swinging from his teeth. Indignus took it.

“Now, when the ritual starts, turn to the page I’ve marked and start reading right here,” she opened the book and pointed. “ _Exists one note in tension, no noise to see, its sonnet is sin in extensions; Set oneness to its intense onset, sit next to sons in stone nests._ ”

“That makes no sense,” the giant said.

“None of it makes sense,” the scholar replied. “Just read it.” She gave him a quick primer in the subtle differences between the ancient writing and modern Erdrean, and seemed pleased when he quickly caught on. “Well done. Then, when you get to the next bookmark,” she pointed, “and reach this couplet,” she pointed again, “you’ll need to cut your hand and let the blood fall onto the…Oh for fuck’s sake. Well, I guess onto the outside of the building. What on Erdrea was Morcant thinking when he let the Dark Lady choose her own vessels?” She pinched the bridge of her nose again. “Then keep reading until you reach the end of the book, go back to the beginning and _keep_ reading until you get back to where you started or until Calasmos manifests, in which case I think it’s a pretty good bet that we’re done.” She sighed. “Elvan, can you give Greed here a hand up?” she asked. “We’re running out of time until moonrise.”

“Just step on my back,” the labradrake said, and Indignus did so, climbing to a position about a floor and a half from the ground and perching on a stone ledge that connected the main building to an exterior spire.

“Here?” the giant called down.

Beatrice squinted up. “Yes, that looks right.”

“How will I know when to start?”

“I’ll send someone out with a signal.”

Hendrik wondered at Beatrice’s matter-of-fact behavior. He knew she must be terrified of what was to happen, yet she had fallen into her old manner of directing others, as though this was all just a normal part of the library project. Certainly no one would wonder if she took her time, showed her grief and fear—she could even use that to stall the ritual’s beginning, which might cause it to fail. But, no. She wouldn’t. She knew that would mean his death, and he knew she was not yet ready to make that decision. There would be time for their sacrifice.

After preparing the coralotl for his role in the ritual, the rest of the party moved indoors, Elvan ducking his great head and folding his wings back to fit through the portal, dragging his enormous body behind him until all was within. He sat back on his haunches and curled his great tail around himself, settling Hendrik on the floor in front of him. Hendrik felt a little like a dog toy in the dragon’s grip.

Beatrice turned her attention to the iron maiden and once again expressed dismay. “She disnae have any blood!” Turning to the Dark Lady, she said, “The ritual calls for each of the vessels to draw blood and let it fall. This is a painted, metal doll. And that,” she pointed to the deadnaut, “is a skeleton.”

“How rude!” the iron maiden cried. No one paid attention.

“Does it need to be their own blood?” Markus asked. “Or can it be someone else’s?” He looked at Hendrik. Beatrice followed his gaze and frowned.

“Ach, I dinnae know for sure. But in all his brilliant foreknowledge, I cannae believe Morcant wouldnae have allowed for this. So we’ll just have to try it.” She turned back to the iron maiden and passed her a book. “You’re envy,” she said. “And you,” she handed a book to the deadnaut, “are wrath. You’ll be up on the top floor.”

Markus grinned. “Okay, then. Elvan, you stay here with Dora-in-Grey. And Hendrik will come upstairs with me and provide his bleeding services to Tyriant.”

Hendrik started. _Tyriant?_ Something about that name struck him as familiar. Come to think of it, the creature was wearing Zwaardsrustian armor. Should he know who he was? Or had been?

“Wait a minute,” Elvan said, “why do I have to get cut? Why not you?”

“Because the master needs me on the top floor,” Markus replied, brows arched. “For protection.”

“I’m a fucking dragon.”

“Who’s too big to fly up there.”

“Boys!” Beatrice snapped. “Do I have to separate you? Elvan, stay here with…what was it, Dora? It’s about time someone else got to take _your_ blood for a change.”

Elvan growled. “That hurts me deeply,” he said. “Well, no, not really. Whatever.”

One by one, the Drasilian scholar apprised each of the six vessels of exactly where to stand, where to start reading the book, and when to spill blood—whoever’s it happened to be. Tyriant was last to take his position by a shelf just past the northwest stairway from the third floor to the top. Beatrice walked him through his part, being careful to insist that he simply slice Hendrik’s hand and let a small amount of blood fall to the marble floor. “Don’t get overzealous and accidentally kill the man.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Tyriant said. “A fellow Zwaardsrustian warrior of his caliber? While I would love to end his miserable life, I would insist on a fair fight.”

Hendrik said, “Forgive me. Should I know you?”

The deadnaut growled. “In life I was Sir Lodewijk, General of Zwaardsrust’s army.”

“You…were killed in the massacre. Yet you live?”

“It is my hatred that keeps me alive,” he said, his hands tightening around the book he held. “I led my men against the monster horde, and the cowards fell away behind me, leaving me isolated and vulnerable, to die horribly at the hands of the enemy. I have never forgiven them. Nor will I.”

Hendrik was filled with sympathy for this creature, though he was careful not to show it. He knew it would be an insult to such as Tyriant. But to have been utterly consumed by hatred to the point where it kept him animated in death…such a fate was surely worse than the original death he had suffered.

“Well, that’s lovely,” Markus said. “Are we done here?”

Beatrice’s shoulders sagged, and Hendrik could see the fatigue in her eyes, the fear creeping in now that the business at hand was concluding. What happened next would be up to her, and her alone. She said only, “Aye.”

“Come, Beatrice of Dundrasil,” the Dark Lady said, and began walking across the span to the center of the library, beneath the skylight. With a last, lingering look at Hendrik, Beatrice followed her.

The moment the scholar turned her back, Markus slammed Hendrik against a tall column that rose from the floor to the base of the great dome. He bound the knights arms behind the column, making sure that one hand was easily reachable and would drip blood onto the floor, rather than over the rail. He tugged at the bonds several times to make sure they were fast, then leaned over Hendrik’s shoulder and hissed into his ear. “Know this. I do not care what the Dark Lady has promised Beatrice. The moment the ritual is complete, I will kill you myself.”

Hendrik said, “I do not doubt that by sunrise one of us will be dead. I will leave it to Yggdrasil to decide which.”


	48. Chapter 48

Beatrice

Beatrice stared down the length of the span to the platform beneath the dome and felt keenly that she was walking to her death. The balusters of the railing that lined the bridge were shaped like chess pawns; they mocked her as she went, calling her out as a powerless game piece. The patterns in the marble floor, which had never struck her as sinister before, now looked like a massive spider into whose waiting fangs she inexorably walked. Try as she might to banish these dark thoughts from her head, they remained, weighing her down.

The Dark Lady reached the switch at the center and turned to wait for Beatrice, her impassive face even paler in the blue light of the pyramidal floor lanterns. She held out the book of pride.

“I found it just beneath here,” Beatrice said, and walked to the edge of the circle. “I imagine this is where I should stand.” She turned and took the dark tome. The moment it made contact with her hand, a surge of adrenaline shot through her, the book crying out in her mind that the time had come. _Convene the seven! Begin!_ Beatrice swayed where she stood, suddenly aware of her proximity to the sixty foot drop to the marble below. In a flash, she saw a way out. It would not save Hendrik, she knew, though his death would likely come in a fit of rage that would end him quickly. Could she even consider that now? He had been clear about what he was willing to sacrifice should it come to this. Isabella was likely dead, the Luminary none the wiser of the danger Beatrice now posed to all of Erdrea. She glanced up through the skylight at the brightening stars. The moon was rising—she could feel it in her body. There was no time but now.

She took one last look at Hendrik. He half-sat on the balustrade across the bridge, twisted toward her as best he could be while bound to a column. From that distance, she could not see his eyes clearly, the eyes that had saved her, but she felt them, and hers filled with tears. _Forgive me, my love._ Clutching the book of pride to her chest, she stepped off the edge of the platform.

A shrieking cry filled the entire room, echoing off the floors, columns, and dome. Beatrice closed her eyes as she fell, almost relishing the feeling of the air rushing up past her, welcoming the impending impact that would end this nightmare forever.

Sooner than she had expected, her body crashed into something solid but soft. Pain exploded through her as bones broke and air ejected from her lungs, yet she was aware of being borne upward and had the presence of mind to realize what had happened. The despair was more crippling than the agony in her body, and she cried out, a forlorn wail that called forth tears from her eyes just as it forced blood from her lips.

Elvan lit on the platform, and Beatrice rolled from his back to fall into heap on the marble, coughing blood and sobbing her grief. He covered her with his claw and chanted healing into her. It did nothing for the hollow anguish in her gut.

Markus grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, growling his fury in her ear. He threw her to the ground in the center of the platform, then tied a length of rope to her ankle, securing it to the base of the switch. “You dared usurp my position,” he said, his face inches from hers. “And now you dare to take what I lost to you and throw it away. Enough is enough!” He yanked her to her feet and thrust the book into her hands. “Read it!”

Summoning every ounce of strength, she punched him in the face, roaring her defiance. Markus cried out, and grasped her throat, pressing his thumb into her wind pipe. She gagged and choked, clutching at his wrists.

“Markus.”

He went still and let his hands drop, stepping aside for his master. The Dark Lady looked into Beatrice’s eyes with a burning intensity belied by her impassive exterior. “I will bring Hendrik to you one small piece at a time,” she said, “until you begin the ritual.”

Beatrice returned the gaze with equal intensity. “You’ll nae break me,” she said. “It’s nae my destiny to bring back Calasmos, but to thwart you.”

“We shall see.”

“Wait,” Markus said, a hint of his arrogant assurance returning. “My master, when we read these books in chorus, it was clear to me that she was no match for their power, and when pressed, took the book of pride willingly. Let me convene the ritual. If I am right, it will take far less time.” He looked meaningfully at Beatrice. “And while it would give me great pleasure to take Hendrik apart by inches, I fear the night would be long over before she capitulated.”

Fear clutched at Beatrice’s heart. _No. Just kill me. Kill us both and have done!_

The Dark Lady smiled. “There was good reason I chose you as my second,” she said to Markus. “You continue to please me. And likewise it will be my pleasure to give Beatrice to you should you succeed.”

“Elvan, give the signal to the vessels outside,” Markus said.

Without a word, the dragon dropped over the side of the platform and flapped his wings furiously in the tight space. He lit on the ground floor and stuck his head out the front entrance.

“BEGIN!” Markus cried, and opened the book of pride to the marked page. He swept the entire room with his gaze, ascertaining that all the volumes had been opened, then began to read. “ _Illumination on mountain, in nominal amount, not unlit til lion maul;  
Anoint illuminati lain in toil, mount talon in man til minion moan._”

Though the readers were scattered over a large space, even divided by walls, the library acted as an arcane amplifier. In Beatrice’s mind, all seven couplets were as distinct as if she were reading them herself, yet twisted themselves together into a single voice. It flowed through the cylindrical space like some dark river, from the skylight down to swirl around the central platform and cascade in meandering eddies to pool on the marble below. Despite her open eyes, Beatrice nonetheless saw vivid visions coalesce and dissolve before her—images a thousand years old and a thousand years into a future of endless night. Beneath her feet, the building began to vibrate.

Yet she could feel that the interconnected, harmonized cacophony was strained, off-kilter. Markus’ voice refused to weave itself into the others, and each word he spoke struck her body like a blade, sharp pain piercing her skin, her heart, her mind. She backed away from him, holding up her hands as if she could physically block his verbal assault. He followed, one step at a time, until she reached the end of the tether that bound her to the switch and fell to the floor.

Unrelenting, the words lashed at her, the other voices recognizing the one voice missing and adding their clamorous demand to his, battering her with mental agony. Her vision clouded—she could no longer see the library as it was, but only as a hyper-real image, vivid colors setting off explosions of pain in her head. The chanting clutched at her, bound her, squeezed her, screamed at her, and then, in the midst of it, the small, black creature with long arms appeared before her, the orange swirl in its belly changing shape, becoming a vortex.

 _RELEASE ME_.

“I’ll nae!”

_YOU WILL. IT IS ORDAINED._

Beatrice clutched at her head, the pain unbearable. She knew she had only to take the book, and all would be well. No more pain. No more grief. Hendrik released alive and well. The nightmare over.

_AND POWER. FREEDOM. MARKUS WILL NOT OWN YOU. YOU WILL KILL HIM. JUST AS YOU SAID._

She writhed on the ground, curled into a fetal position, then kicked outward, a keening wail tearing from her throat without her will, without control. She had to make it stop. But at what cost? No! She must endure, must not give in.

_WHY? YOUR GIFT—IT WAS ALL FOR THIS. TO LEARN THE TRUTH, SOLVE THE MYSTERY, BRING ABOUT A GREATER AGE._

Beyond and through the physical pain, the dark words howled insult at her, goaded and cajoled. If she did not take her rightful place, her existence was meaningless. Her whole purpose was to master knowledge, to use her gifts—she was a superior being! She would throw it all away. And for what? Love? Love was just another word for loss.

_LET GO OF WHAT HOLDS YOU BACK, LIMITS YOU, BINDS YOU TO THE DUST._

Let go of what held her back. Hendrik. The Luminary. Yggdrasil. Clinging to these things was what was causing her so much pain, the pain that tore through every iota of her existence. Another searing attack by the writhing words, like daggers beneath her skin, flaying her alive. Why shouldn’t she make it stop at any cost?

_RULE WITH ME. THE DARK LADY IS NOTHING. I HAVE CHOSEN YOU, BEATRICE OF DUNDRASIL. FROM THE BEGINNING OF TIME._

Calasmos was a god. Greater than Yggdrasil. Older. Purer. Was she not meant for such? Her intellect, her gifts…all for this, Morcant had said. And why not? After all Yggdrasil had taken from her, continued to take from her. “I cannae think straight. Make it stop.”

_YOU ARE CAUSING YOUR OWN PAIN. DO NOT FIGHT YOUR DESTINY. TAKE THE BOOK. RELEASE ME._

A shred of will remained. _No! Dear Yggdrasil no! Please! Dinnae reduce me to this! Is all my intellect, all my pride for naught but to succumb to such evil?_

Yggdrasil did not answer.

Mechanically, as if in a trance, Beatrice stood and took the book.

Joy and power and electricity surged through her body and she cried out in ecstasy as at once the pain ceased, her mind cleared, and the whole library seemed to sing, a vibrating hum, thrilling harmonics resonating all of existence. As before, she did not need to open the book, its words were a part of her very being, spinning outward, drawing the other voices to her and weaving them tightly into a single spell. _The light needs the darkness, yet the dark exists without illumination._ Yes! All of the seven meshed into perfect time with one another, and the subtle vibrations in the building escalated into a rumble deep within the earth. The flow of woven voices reversed, rising from the ground through the central chamber, to focus through Beatrice and up toward the skylight.

She threw her head back and her body lifted from the ground. The blue glow from the floor lamps turned purple and brightened into a blinding blaze, enveloping her. Pain that was also intense pleasure shot through her; wings erupted from her shoulder blades and grew and she gloried in the feel of them as she beat them in the air. Horns burst from within her hair, through the skin at her shoulders, through the fast-growing fur on her forearms and legs. She broke through the flimsy tether holding her to the switch and flew upward to hover beneath the great window, eyes on the sky as she chanted, arms uplifted, heart bursting with pride. _This! This is all! Everything! O, Dark One, my lord and my love! Come!_


	49. Chapter 49

_ The Day of the New Moon: Night _

Lars

The new moon broke over the horizon, its pale corona barely visible. How long did they have? Had the ritual already begun? Lars wanted to scream at El to hurry, but knew Cetacea was flying at her top speed, and that was no less than breathtaking. They had covered the distance from the east side of the First Forest to the mountains just east of Sniflheim in only nine hours, had stopped only once for a scant fifteen minutes to eat, drink, and relieve themselves in Arboria. Now the royal library was in view, a stark silhouette against the aurora-bathed snow.

“There’s activity outside the library,” Jade called over the wind. “Something large in front of the door—two somethings, and maybe a third on the east side?”

Erik peered through the darkness. “That’s Indignus,” he said pointing. “And it looks like a coralotl and a chihuawyrm or labradrake out front.”

“Your eagle eyes are astonishing!” called Rab. “I cannae see a blessed thing!”

“How do we get down there without alerting them to our presence?” asked Serena.

Veronica clenched her fists, tiny flames erupting and then winking out in the fast-moving air. “They’re going to be alerted anyway when we fucking _kill_ them,” she said.

“Can she set us down in the hills just northeast?” Lars called. “We can drop down from there into the snow behind the library. There’s a hidden back door that gets us into a dead-end hallway on the first level. From there I can reset all the switches so we can make our way from there to wherever we might need to go.”

El nodded. “Easy enough,” he said. “Erik, you can go straight from the hill to deal with Indignus. Use the element of surprise and take him out as quickly as you can.”

“I’m going after that asshole Alizarin again,” Veronica said. “He owes me a fucking hat.”

“What about the wolf-dragon?” Sylvando asked.

“I’ll take it,” Oskar said, fastening on the last of his armor. “The rest of you need to get the books from the assassins. From what you’ve said about them, I don’t think the chihuawyrm is one of them.”

Sylvando frowned. “You’re going to take on a dragon by yourself? I don’t think that’s a good idea, honey.”

“We don’t have a choice,” the guardsman insisted. “At the very least, I can distract him so he doesn’t interfere with Veronica or Erik.”

Serena shot him a worried glance. “Do you have enough panaceas?” she asked.

He smiled at her. “Thanks to you, I didn’t have to use any during the battle of Dundrasil.” He patted the pouch at his hip. “I’m well stocked.”

A rumble echoed from the area around the library, like rolling thunder that simply would not fade away. “What’s happening?” Jade shouted.

Lars cried, “The ritual! It must have started! Hurry!”

Cetacea dove and Lars’ heart jumped into his throat, terror surging through him even though he knew it was impossible to fall off the giant flying whale for some magical reason. She leveled out just above the tree line and slowed, her silent wings undulating in a hover pattern. At the edge of the cliff above the library, she descended and stopped inches from the ground. Everyone tumbled off and Lars was grateful for the snow, which muffled their landings to the point where they could not be heard above the rumbling from within the earth. The ground shook beneath him, making his footing unsteady.

Oskar touched his shoulder and he turned to see the guardsman holding out a massive sword—Hendrik’s brilliant blade. He had carried it from Dundrasil in the hope of returning it to its rightful owner. Lars accepted it and Oskar helped him fasten the scabbard to his back. Rashly, Lars hugged Queen Frysabel’s captain, his own sword clanging against Oskar’s armor. _Shit!_ Everyone froze and stared down at Indignus. Apparently he was so wrapped up in whatever he was doing he didn’t notice. Or perhaps the earthquake was just too loud.

With a thumbs up to Erik, Veronica, and Oskar, Lars tramped off northward along the edge of the cliff, looking for the best place to make his way down. At last, he spied the narrow crevasse he was looking for and scrambled into it, his gloved hands and booted feet easily finding rocks to cling to as he descended. He glanced over his shoulder several times, and as soon as he could make out the patterns on the exterior columns, he jumped down into the snow. Finding his feet, he trudged out of the drift and turned to watch the others drop one by one. In spite of his age and girth, Rab landed with grace and turned to help Serena up after him. Jade lighted well away from the cliff wall in a gymnastic flip. Not to be outdone, Sylvando somersaulted from above to land with a pirouette and a flourish of his arms. El dropped like a stone and clambered out of the drift last, gesturing for Lars to proceed.

The boy scooted beneath the overhang and lifted the latch on a small door in the northeast wall. “When I open this,” he whispered loudly in El’s ear, “there’s going to be light. Indignus might notice.”

El turned to whisper back. “Don’t worry. We can count on Erik to keep him busy.” He squeezed Lars on the shoulder. With a deep breath, the boy pulled the door open, exposing a sliver of illumination that stretched out into the snow behind them. As quickly as they could, they scrambled through, and Rab closed the door.

Within the building, the rumbling was more pronounced, and the sound of voices chanting in unison, except not quite in unison, not only echoed in the space beyond their little dead end chamber, but right through Lars’ body. He swayed where he stood and put out a hand to the shelf next to him.

“This is nae good,” Rab said, his voice low.

El nodded, and Lars could see that whatever effect the sinister chanting was having on him, it was much, much worse for the Luminary. He had gone pale, and his jaw was clenched along with his fists. As Lars watched, El drew the sword of light from his back and dropped into a battle-ready crouch. He fixed Lars with a grimly determined stare, and nodded toward the opening at the end of the hall.

Lars led the way forward, stopped at the edge of the north alcove and peered around the corner. Fifty feet away, against the shelves on the other side of the alcove, an iron maiden with green hair floated above the ground holding one of the dark books, her alabaster face intent on the pages, dainty lips moving as she read. Beside her sat a labradrake, its snout pointed upward. Lars followed its gaze to the walkways around the central shelves on the second floor. A headless hunter sat astride its terrible steed, his shield face engrossed in another of the books. On the floor above, just to the right of the central column, Lars could make out what looked like a hooper trooper, also chanting. Far overhead, in the wan light cast by the myriad lanterns, a winged creature hovered beneath the skylight, arms stretched out, long tail snaking downward. Something in Lars’ gut clenched. Was that…? It had to be. She had said in her note that she would be at the center.

Forcing down his fear, he ducked back into the hall and gave the others a run-down. “It’s odd,” he said. “All that chanting is making me feel sick, but it’s not giving me the horrible thoughts it’s supposed to.”

“Maybe it’s because we can’t hear any distinct words,” Serena said. “Or because the ritual takes everything to a different level.”

Jade frowned. “Well, best not to risk falling victim to it—we need to go in hard and fast and stop the reading.”

“Dora’s mine, darling,” Sylvando said. “But I’ll need help with the dragon.”

“On it,” said El.

Rab wore a dark expression. “Get me to that headless hunter, laddie,” he said to Lars. “We have history.”

Lars thought for a moment. “Let’s do this. The minute I hit the switch, Sylvando and El rush the dragon, and—”

The ground beneath them suddenly began to rumble with greater force. Lars pitched to one side and slammed into the wall. “What’s happening?” Jade shouted.

As if in answer, an explosion sounded from beyond the front entrance.

“Veronica’s happening!” said Serena. “And probably Erik. They’ve disrupted the ritual.”

“I’m going for the switch!” Lars said, and sprinted across the alcove, skidding to a halt with his hand above the glowing crystal. The central stair descended and rotated with its opposite span, the inner walls slid in a circle, opening some doors and closing others. Behind him, Lars could hear, or perhaps sense the interwoven chanting falter. Immediately, the rumbling beneath him increased. Books tumbled off shelves, and a fine crack appeared in the floor where he stood.

From above, a male voice shouted “KEEP READING!” and when he turned, the iron maiden appeared not to have moved, her eyes still intent on the dark tome.

The labradrake, on the other hand, was halfway to the main entrance, its shaggy tail whipping back and forth as it went. Lars looked at Sylvando, who shrugged expansively, and rushed to engage Dora-in-Grey.

“Follow me,” Lars hissed, and ducked to the left, sprinting along the shelf-covered wall toward the southeast stair. Skidding through the doorway into the stairwell, he redoubled his speed, taking the steps two at a time. They emerged on the second floor and Lars booked it for the next switch. He activated the crystal and spun to watch the bridge rotate around the dark dullahan as the eastern span rose into a stair to the third floor. Another rumble tossed the building, and a shelf on the floor above them tipped forward and crashed onto the walkway, sending books and shards of wood cascading to the marble far below.

“Stay to the right around the center column,” Lars called, knowing full well it was obvious if they were to avoid the monster.

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re all up the stairs before I engage the bastard,” Rab said, and dropped behind his companions.

Lars ran, now heedless of who should see, tearing along the outer walkway, across the bridge, around the center shelves, and up to the third floor. At the top, Jade grabbed a marble column and swung herself around to the right.

“I’ve got Booga!” she cried, and pelted off ahead of the others. Lars led Serena and El into the next stairwell, his breath coming in labored gasps as he pushed himself into another two-step-at-a-time dash upward. They burst out onto the top floor into the midst of a terrible scene.

Markus stood on the center platform next to a diminutive woman, pale skin and hair stark against her black clothing. Above them hovered a monstrous figure, who was yet none other than Beatrice—her hair and face unmistakable in spite of everything else being terribly, terribly wrong. Lars’ heart quailed within him at the sight, all his worst fears about those evil books borne out before his eyes. What had they done to her? Her arms were raised to the skylight and she was chanting along with the others, her strident alto deeper and more resonant than he had ever heard as the voices meshed and mingled. Clearly some of the monsters were engaged in battle and had ceased their parts, yet the ritual continued as though none of that mattered.

“Oh, look!” cried Serena between panting breaths. Lars followed her finger. On the far side of the floor, across the platform, Hendrik half sat on the balustrade, bound to a column, a tall, armored skeleton beside him reading from one of the dark tomes. “Tyriant!”

Markus spotted them and turned to stride across the bridge, drawing his sword.

Lars tensed. “That’s Markus,” he said, rage and fear turning his mild voice into a growl.

“Go that way,” El said, pointing north. “Free Hendrik and deal with Tyriant. I’ll take care of Markus.” He struggled to catch his breath, holding his position and letting Jasper’s brother come to him. Lars could tell the ritual was still deeply affecting the Luminary—it was more than their sprint up three massive flights of stairs that left him pale and tense. Was it wise to leave him to Markus?

Serena grabbed Lars’ hand and pulled, and the boy pushed aside his unease and jogged after her along the edges of the bookshelves. “I can’t risk a wind spell,” she said at his ear. “It would seriously injure Hendrik. I’m going in with my spear—get Hendrik free as quickly as you can.” He nodded, sheathing his sword and pulling his knife from his belt. Serena loosed her spear from her back and murmured a prayer for holy deliverance.

If Tyriant saw them coming, Lars couldn’t tell. He appeared completely rapt by the words he was reading. In the midst of it, the deadnaut drew one of his blades and stepped in close to Hendrik.

“No!” Lars shouted, and Serena flew into a sprint, thrusting powerfully into the tall skeleton’s midsection, beneath his breast plate. The monster screamed and fell back and away from the column at the rail. Another great tremor shook the library as he stopped chanting.

Hendrik stood and struggled to turn and see what had happened. “Hold still!” Lars said, then sawed through the bonds that held the knight to the marble. The moment his hands were freed, Hendrik swung to face the boy and crushed him in a hug.

“Thank Yggdrasil!” he cried. Lars unbuckled the scabbard from his back and handed it to Hendrik. “My sword. Good man!” He slung it over his shoulder and fastened the leather belt across his chest. “Help Serena,” he commanded. “Tyriant is a tortured soul. Serena knows how to put him to rest but she will need your assistance.”

“Yes, Sir!”

All joy at seeing his friends evaporated from Hendrik’s face, leaving only a grim determination as he turned and ran for the bridge.

Hendrik

The tremors in the library worsened. Books flew from shelves, whole bookcases fell forward, crashing onto walkways and over rails. Hendrik forced himself to stay focused. To his left, across the bridge, Beatrice hovered under the skylight, still somehow managing to sustain the ritual even as all the vessels were otherwise engaged. The Dark Lady stood beneath her, still and silent in spite of the chaos escalating around them. Ahead, a quarter turn further along, El stood braced for Markus’ attack. Hendrik calculated odds, thought through scenarios. His first duty was to El, but he had no doubt the Luminary would wipe the floor with Markus in short order. Far better to serve by bringing this mad ritual to an end. Even better to bring its mastermind to her end while her sadistic guard dog was otherwise occupied.

As El and Markus met with a clash of swords, Hendrik turned and ran across the bridge, his brilliant blade singing out of its scabbard, the feel of it in his hands like a long lost lover. He dug deep, channeling the last ten days of helplessness, despair, fear, and grief into a perfectly centered energy. Without slowing his approach, he lifted his sword and brought it down and up in a perfect arc, catching the Dark Lady in the middle of her body and launching her through the air. She seemed to hang motionless in the lantern light, then plummeted out of sight.

“NO!” Markus voice echoed from everywhere, and Hendrik turned to see him staring down at the floor below. El came in for an attack while the man was distracted, but grief and rage seemed to lend Markus a supernatural awareness. He dodged and wheeled around behind El, lashing out with his blade and pounding at El with such fury, the smaller man was driven back against the rail, the sword of light pinned under him. El twisted in Markus’ grasp, struggling to free his weapon. He kicked upward while slamming into Markus’ face with the palm of his left hand. Markus leaned forward, shoving his arm into El’s throat.

In horror, Hendrik watched as they teetered, and then fell over rail.


	50. Chapter 50

_ The Day of the New Moon: Night _

Veronica

In the pale illumination cast by the lantern Alizarin held, Veronica could see the golden fur of the dragon sitting in the snow field behind him. Labradrake. They had all agreed that breed of wolf-dragon was above Oskar’s pay grade for a solo fight, so it was time for Plan B. Veronica and Oskar perched at the top of a rugged rock face, concealed from the monsters behind the uppermost branches of a fir tree. She pulled her head back from surveilling the dragon and turned her attention northward a few dozen yards.

Erik crouched at the edge of the rocky cliff, a silhouette against the aurora, his spiky hair unmistakable even at a distance, his two deadly boomerangs glinting in the pink and green glow. Directly in front of him the loss leader stood motionless on a stone beam facing the building. He held a lantern aloft, his deep voice speaking indistinct words in a singsong rhythm. From where she stood, Veronica sensed the power contained in whatever he was reading, and it sent tendrils of unease twisting around her gut.

A movement pulled her focus back to Erik. He did some fancy foot work Veronica couldn’t follow, and suddenly two after-images of the thief appeared on either side of him, then vanished. His silhouette gave her a thumbs up. Anticipation shot through her like fire. “Let’s go,” she said to Oskar, and they moved from behind their cover to a clear view of their objective. She looked back at Erik and waited. The thief drew back his arms and Veronica crouched. “Three…two… _one_!” she hissed.

Erik let loose his weapons and they hurtled silently through the night. A split second later, Indignus roared and dropped the lantern, and Veronica jumped forward, half falling, half sliding down the slope. Another shout went up as Erik doubled down and she heard, rather than saw the giant crash to the snow behind the library.

As if in answer, a rumble arose from the ground, shaking the earth beneath them, and Veronica pitched forward into a roll. _The fuck?!?_ Oskar stopped her uncontrolled tumbling by grabbing her around the waist and holding her to his chest, becoming an armored sled. She scanned the field, certain they had to have been noticed, but Alizarin and the labradrake had turned toward the fallen loss leader, seemingly oblivious to the incoming threat.

Oskar skidded to a stop at level ground and Veronica leapt up and rushed the wolf-dragon. “ _Kafrizzle!”_ she shouted, launching a fireball at the beast’s hind quarters. The guardsman came up hard on her heels, his sword flying out of its scabbard.

Roaring in pain, the labradrake whirled to face its attackers. “All yours,” Veronica shouted, then banked right and ran full tilt toward the coralotl on the front step. “ _Kaboomle!_ ” she cried, and the air around Alizarin exploded, lifting him from the ground.

“Oskar!” Erik shouted from somewhere behind her. “Duck!” The wolf-dragon let out another enraged roar, and Veronica was confident the shaggy monster was now wounded and weakened enough for Oskar to bring it down single-handedly.

Putting aside all else, she walloped the coralotl with another _kafrizzle_ and let out a gleeful cry when it toppled from the step into the snow. She loosed her whip, running in close for a _twin dragon lash_ , but Alizarin clambered to his feet and called forth a hail of ice shards. They pelted her, knocking her onto her backside, drawing blood from a dozen places and leaving her shivering.

“ _Bastard!_ ” she screamed, and summoned another fireball between her hands.

“Takes one to know one!” Alizarin retorted, bounding toward her. He reached her in two great strides, raking across her body with his claws. Agony ripped through her midsection and across her arm, but she gritted her teeth, willing herself focused, and hurled the fireball into his face at close range. The coralotl pitched backward, and before he could right himself, she lashed out with her whip. The thong sailed through the air, evoking the images of two luminous dragon heads, one bright orange, the other bright blue, both of which dove at Alizarin from opposite sides with beastly ferocity.

“NOOOO!” the sea dragon shouted. “I should have been able to crush you, tiny brat!”

Veronica stood panting in the snow, feet braced wide apart, blood and sweat dripping from her. “Never judge a person by her size!” she said, pulling another fireball into existence between her fingers.

Alizarin clambered to his feet and lifted his enormous arms. “ _Kacrackle!_ ” he bellowed, hurling a massive chunk of ice not at the diminutive wizard, but directly downward into the snow in front of him. A geyser of brilliant crystals shot outward in all directions, creating a blinding blizzard and flinging Veronica onto her backside with an enraged shriek.

The snow and ice hung in the air for what seemed like minutes, long enough for Veronica to roll to her feet and spew out an extended string of ear-curdling swearing. She ended with, “Where are you, you fucking coward?!?” as the reflective cloud dissipated. The last flakes settled to reveal that Alizarin had vanished. Veronica whipped her head around, scanning the dark surroundings. Just at the edge of the plateau, she caught movement: the silhouette of the corolatl’s spiked tail disappearing over the cliff.

“FUCKING HELL!” Staggering to one side, the wizard fumbled in her pouch for a panacea and then downed it as she turned to seek out Oskar. He had backed the labradrake against the rocks at the edge of the field. Over the rumbling of the ground, she could hear the grunts and cries of pain from both combatants and jogged toward them, ready to assist, but when she was still several yards off, the wolf dragon leapt into the sky and pounded its fur-lined wings, climbing unsteadily before wheeling to the northeast and flying over the cliffs.

Oskar spun toward the library and ran. He spied Veronica and called, “He is at least away from here. We must go aid the Luminary!”

The wizard grinned at his focus and determination. He reminded her a little of Hendrik, but without the standoffishness. “Where’s Erik?” she asked, falling into step beside him, her little feet taking three strides to his two.

“I’m not certain. I was engaged in my battle with the dragon, but I could have sworn I saw him just standing and talking with the giant.” He shook his helmeted head. “It makes no sense.”

Veronica laughed. “Erik makes no sense,” she said. “But if there’s no sign of them still fighting, chances are Indignus is dead and Erik is already inside.” Her mirth died as a second labradrake emerged from the library’s main entrance, its wings tightly folded to fit through the doors. Instantly, she raised her arms, the words of the _kaboomle_ spell on her lips. But before she could cast it, the wolf-dragon ejected from the building and leapt right over them, beating its great wings and lifting into the sky.

“What the fuck?”

“Come on!” Oskar cried. “We must see what is happening inside!”

Veronica clenched her fists. “I need to find Alizarin’s book first.” The sea dragon’s lantern had shattered when she’d attacked him, and the only light was the flickering aurora overhead. They walked back and forth in straight lines, peering at the ground as they went. Precious minutes passed before Oskar spied a corner of the tome sticking out of the snow just below the stairs. “I hope it’s not wrecked,” Veronica said, brushing off the clinging flakes.

“Yggdrasil forbid,” Oskar replied, jogging up the stairs. In the pale glow from the front entrance, Veronica noticed blood dripping from Oskar’s side onto the step.

“You’re wounded,” she said. “Don’t you have any panacea?”

“Yes. I simply haven’t had a moment.”

“Take a moment,” she insisted. “We don’t want you passing out when we have serious asses to kick.” She smashed a fist into her other palm for emphasis and Oskar grinned as he fished a healing mixture out of his pack.

He swallowed it and said, “Fine, then. Let’s start kicking.”

Erik

Indignus lay in a heap between the library and the cliff, barely visible as anything more than another snow drift in the near-dark. Erik approached, cautious, doubly armed. If the loss leader was dead, he would have disintegrated. The question was whether he was unconscious or simply lying in wait. The thief let fly a single boomerang, heard it impact flesh, and caught it. No outcry.

He could just kill the giant now, but something about the guy’s obsession with honor gave Erik pause, though he certainly didn’t have time to wait around for Indignus to wake up. Fastening his hunter’s moon to his belt, he crept around the prone creature to where the lantern had fallen into a pile of snow and lay half buried, but still lit. Raising it, he saw that his attack had drawn a great deal of blood—when he looked back up to where Indignus had been standing, he could see it splashed onto the outer wall of the building, shining and black against the white stone. There was bloodletting involved in the ritual—had the giant done it himself? Or was it solely from Erik’s boomerangs?

He began searching the ground for the book the giant had been reading. The sounds of fireballs, explosions, growling, and shouting mixed themselves with the rumbling from beneath him and the odd rhythmic hum that seemed to underlie everything. He stayed light on his feet against the shaking ground, almost dancing from stone to snow pile to the veranda and back. There was no sign of the book.

“Looking for this?” came Indignus’ deep voice.

Erik spun and raised his metal king goomerang to strike. The giant had not moved, except that he now held the dark book in the air in front of him. “Toss it here,” the thief said.

“On one condition.”

“By my reckoning, you’re not in any position to bargain. That attack plus the fall should have killed you. But since it didn’t, I figure it won’t take much more to put you out for good.”

Indignus inclined his head, conceding the point. “But you are a man of honor, and so I hope you would hear me out.”

“Make it quick,” Erik said, his left hand getting twitchy. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s serious shit going down here.”

“I would trade for my life,” the giant said. “The book, and my service.”

Erik raised and eyebrow. “Are you kidding me?”

“I have no loyalty to the Dark Lady. She sought me out because she knew I hungered for the one thing I could not have: honor among my own people. She promised power and position so that I might take my revenge on them for their cruelty to me.” He pushed himself up to a seated position, tossing his cloak over his shoulders. “But as I read this book, I felt somehow that her promises were a lie. That if Calasmos were to be raised, I would be cast aside or even killed along with everyone else. And yet, once I had begun reading, I could not stop.”

“Until I attacked you,” Erik said, thoughtful. Could Indignus be telling the truth? It’s not like the guy was claiming to be a saint. Loss leaders were notoriously bloodthirsty as a general rule. Having honor among them hardly qualified him as trustworthy. He sighed. “If you’re in earnest, give me the book.”

“I believe you are honorable, thief Erik,” the giant said. “So I will trust you with my life.” He handed the book over and Erik slipped it into the pouch at his hip.

“I want to believe likewise, giant Indignus. But I’m not quite there yet. So here’s what I’m going to need you to do for me.”

Sylvando

“Honey, don’t call those vines up. They just restored these floors!” Sylvando leapt lightly over a pile of crumbled marble chunks and spun, landing two quick sword strikes on the doll’s body. “I thought you cared about beautiful things.”

“The most beautiful thing I can imagine right now is you _dead_.” She pouted as she struck the acrobat across the face with her hard, metal hand. Pain surged in Sylvando’s jaw and he flipped backward, out of her reach. The moment he landed, she breathed out a freezing blizzard, pelting him with ice, sending him skidding on the marble.

Another tremor shook the library, and somewhere above them a shelf toppled, and a shower of books and wood fragments rained down on them both. “This can’t be good,” he said, jumping up and down to try to warm himself. “I have a feeling this whole place is going to shake itself to pieces.”

Dora glanced upward, a worried frown on her perfect features. “It’s because of you,” she snapped. “You interrupted the ritual!”

“Had to be done, darling,” he said, then rushed her, swords slashing once, twice across her midsection. She screamed and floated backward, and the marble at Sylvando’s feet erupted as another dragon vine burst upward and bit his chest and shoulder. Sharp, crushing pain seized his upper body. With his free arm, he severed the head from the tentacle and the whole thing disintegrated. Blood soaked his striped performer’s tunic as he staggered back, some dripping onto the floor.

From behind him, he heard Rab shout what sounded like a battle cry or a spell, but might just as well have been a cry of pain, for all he could tell over the steady rumbling and haunting chant. He willed himself back into focus, imagining the battle as a dance, as he always did, and feinted left as another thorny vine lunged at him from an already-existing hole in the floor.

“Honestly,” he said, “what’s so beautiful about bringing back Calasmos? He’s just going to make everything dark all the time. You can hardly enjoy beauty without light.” He swooped into a _miracle slash_ , grateful for the healing that surged through him as his swords connected.

She grunted in pain, then blew another blast of icy cold at him. He leapt into a back flip and dodged. “I see perfectly in the dark,” she hissed. “Besides, it’s enough to know that I _have_ beautiful things and that I _am_ beautiful.”

“But no one else will be able to see you. Don’t you think it’s better to have beauty on the inside?”

“They’ll know. Everyone will just _know_!” She struck out with her arm, but he pirouetted around her, forcing her into a spin. Then before she could reorient herself, he executed the perfect _finger of justice_ move set, and blasted her with the naked power of joy.

Dora slammed back into the shelved wall, knocking a shower of books down over herself. One arm dangled from its socket, the iron cage beneath her gown was rent open in multiple places, its sharp metal poking through the purple fabric. Her painted complexion had been scraped away from half of her face, and one eye was missing. “No…” she wheezed, raising her good hand to her cheek. “You have…destroyed…my beauty.”

Sylvando frowned, almost sad to see her so disfigured. “Oh, honey, I think you destroyed your own beauty long ago. If you ever had any.”

Fury flashed across what remained of her features. “Don’t you… _dare_ …pity…me!” She lunged forward, arm outstretched in a final, desperate attempt to hurt him, then crashed into the ruined floor, her head slumped into one of the holes she had created. Presently, her body disintegrated into smoke, leaving something protruding above the level of the marble where her head had been. Sylvando crouched beside the opening to see that there, in the soil her plants had brought up from deep below the library, a single dark purple calla lily had bloomed.

“Now what do you know about that,” Sylvando said. “There was some genuine beauty in her after all.” Sorrow crept into his otherwise indomitable cheerfulness as he wondered just what had happened to destroy it. “I’ll come back for you, honey,” he said to the flower, then retrieved Dora-in-Grey’s dark book from where it had been flung, and ran for the steps.

Rab

Rab’s thirst for revenge reduced everything around him to a single pinpoint of focus. He did not feel the rumbling of the floor, did not hear the falling of shelves, the explosions outside, the clashing of swords below, the continued chanting. From the moment he had stepped onto the second floor span, he was aware of nothing but the headless hunter who had murdered his only child.

As he walked, he prayed. Strength for his arms, sharpness for his xenlon claws, light against the darkness, channeling all into _the hand of Yggdragon_ , his greatest skill with his chosen weapon, and one he had only recently perfected. Once and for all, he would remove this hateful creature from existence, and close the wound in his heart that had bled for nearly eighteen years.

The Headless Honcho did not notice Rab’s approach, so absorbed was he in the ritual he chanted. He was in the process of drawing a dagger across his own palm, and letting blood fall to the marble, so that when the Drasilian lord regent rounded the central column, claws bared, he was aided not just by focus and justice, but by surprise.

“FOR ELEANOR!” Rab roared, and leapt into the air, bringing his multi-bladed gloves down with preternatural force on the hellish creature. The claws connected, striking a critical blow, and the dark dullahan sprawled backwards, its shield face flying from its arm and landing with a clang on the marble. Its mount reared, then collapsed, crashing into the rail and splintering balustrade and balusters alike before tumbling over the side to the floor below. Then, a moment later, horse and rider vanished in a cloud of putrid smoke.

His monstrous explosion of energy spent, Rab sagged against the shelves, breathing heavily. Presently, his rage ebbed, leaving behind grief, and he sighed. He had known that wouldn’t go. Would never go. But perhaps the closure would help. Then again, if they didn’t stop Calasmos from coming back, he’d never live to find out. Shaking off the excess emotion, he retrieved the Headless Honcho’s dark book, and trotted off after the others.

Jade

Jade announced herself to Booga with seven vicious kicks to his corpulent person, one of which sent his book flying into the shelf above his head with a slap. He didn’t respond at once, as if his trancelike state in reciting the ritual had kept him from quite realizing what had happened. Finally, his beady eyes focused from where he lay prone against the rail.

“I knew you couldn’t keep away from me,” he said, bounding back to his feet and twirling out of range.

“In your dreams,” Jade hissed, flipping and twisting in the air to land another blow across the hooper trooper’s face. He bounced off the shelves and into another dance move.

“Surely they’re you’re dreams too,” he drawled, shimmying his spiked hoop up over his head and flinging it at her like a boomerang.

Jade ducked into a roll and came up right in front of Booga, then leapt into the air and kicked off his face into a back flip over the returning weapon. “What on _Erdrea_ makes you think that?”

“I see the way you look at me,” he said, lashing out with his claws. She took a hit across the chest and shoulder and grunted with the pain.

“With disgust?” she snapped, hopping backwards.

“And then there’s the way you dress.”

Jade froze. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked, a dangerous glint in her violet eyes.

The hooper trooper rotated his hips, his metal hoop spinning lazy circles around him. “Bare midriff? Hot pants? And all that leather…” He licked his lips. “I know what you want.”

That did it. Once again, some insufferable, small-brain-small-dick _fuck_ wad plastering his sexually retarded male fantasy onto an attractive woman and justifying his pathetic need to dominate by calling out her fashion choices. Choices which, by the way, were related to her martial arts and _not_ her own lack of sexual maturity, thank-you-very-much. “You do?” she asked, dropping her voice to a husky, seductive tone.

“Oh, I do,” he said.

“Ah. Then you’ll certainly have seen this coming.” She smiled, leaning toward him, her pony tail dripping over her shoulder even as her blood dripped onto the floor. Booga returned the smile, his unibrow arched in expectation.

In a single motion, Jade leapt into the air and drew her spear from her back. With a powerful cry, she thrust downward with all her strength, unleashing a bolt of lightning the moment the blade struck home between the hooper trooper’s eyes and plunged straight through his head and body.

He disintegrated instantly in an explosion of light and putrid smoke, and Jade landed lightly on her feet. With a final grunt of disgust, she scooped up the dark book and turned to head further up, just as Rab reached the top of the stairs from the second floor.

“Are you alright, Lass?” he asked.

“Happy to be rid of that bastard,” she growled. “You?”

The old man shrugged. “Revenge doesnae take away grief,” he said. “But at least that evil creature won’t be murdering anyone else’s children.”

A sudden cry of “NO!” from above drew Jade’s eyes to the fourth floor rail. Her fists clenched: Markus, his eyes staring down toward the floor three stories below. Before El could take advantage of Markus’ distraction, the older man threw himself at El, battering him back and pinning him against the rail. They struggled—Jade couldn’t quite see what has happening, and then…

“El!” cried Rab, as his only grandchild went over the side, hung for a brief moment, and fell.


	51. Chapter 51

_ The Day of the New Moon: Night _

Serena

Tyriant crashed into the wall, Serena’s spear deep in his midsection under his breast plate. She yanked it out and leapt back before the skeletal warrior could strike with his already-drawn sword. From behind her, she heard Hendrik’s cry of “Thank Yggdrasil!” over the bizarre din of quaking earth and echoing spell. She could not understand why she still heard Tyriant’s voice, why she still heard _all_ the voices and countless others whispering in and among them when by now surely everyone had stopped chanting in order to defend themselves. Evil was palpable in the space, as if the entire building were nothing more than a kind of wand, concentrating and amplifying it.

Peripherally, she saw Hendrik striding toward the bridge. “Stay back, Lars,” she called, readying _kaswooshle_. “I don’t want you to get caught in this.”

Tyriant drew his second blade and flew at her, uttering a grating shriek. She raised her arms and flung them forward, spinning a whirlwind out of nothing and lifting the undead monster off his feet. He fell to the marble with the clatter of bones and the clank of armor.

Lars was suddenly at her shoulder. He said, “Hendrik said Tyriant was a tortured soul, and that you could do something about that.” Of course. She could send him to his rest, relieve him of whatever terrible emotions kept him lashed to his corporeal form. Normally El aided her in the ritual. Could she manage it with Lars? She grabbed his arm and pulled him further from the monster.

“Quick, while he’s down, stand back to back with me and fold your hands. I’m going to pray—repeat after me!” She felt the boy’s shoulder blades against her mid-back. Inviting Yggdrasil to calm her heart and mind in the midst of the chaos, she reached outward and upward with her spirit—

“NO!” someone shouted, and Serena lost her mental equilibrium. She followed the sound to where El had engaged Markus on the other side of the floor. The two were struggling against the rail.

“Look out, Serena!” Lars yelled, and she spun to see Tyriant bearing down on her. Before she could draw her spear, a blur of blond hair and steel flashed in front of her, and the skeletal warrior shrieked again as Lars’ sword pierced his eye socket. The boy fell back and Serena lashed out with wind magic, forcing Tyriant back toward the shelves.

Another cry went up behind her—an anguished roar from Hendrik—but she dared not get distracted again. She pulled Lars behind her, shouting, “Again!” and began the prayer a second time, beseeching the goddess to take from Tyriant his vengeful rage and weaken his bodily form so that she might send his soul back to the World Tree whole and peaceful. Lars repeated her words and a shower of light descended from the ceiling and surrounded them and Tyriant.

“Now! While he is weakened!” They drew their weapons together and rushed at the skeletal warrior, impaling him simultaneously.

He screamed and kicked outward, sending Lars flying, and brought both blades down on Serena in a desperate attack. She careened backward, falling to the floor in a spray of blood, pain searing her chest and side. Tyriant raised his twin blades to strike again, but from where she lay, Serena raised her arm and whispered one last _kaswooshle_. The whirlwind that erupted from her hand slammed into the undead monster, and sent him crashing again into the wall.

He slumped to the ground and Serena pushed herself up, blood dripping onto the marble. She murmured a fullheal, sighing with relief as her body mended.

“I…” Tyriant said, his voice softer and lower than she had heard. “What have you done?”

She smiled, her indigo eyes holding compassion. “I have merely asked Yggdrasil to remove the barriers you put up between yourself and her.”

“You have…freed me. After all I have done. Why?”

Serena knelt at the fallen monster’s side and took his hand. Looking into the empty darkness of his eye sockets, she said simply, “Sir Hendrik asked me to.”

A sigh escaped the grinning skull. “Give…Sir Hendrik…my…thanks,” he wheezed just before his body collapsed into a pile of bones, and vanished in a haze of purple smoke.

Hendrik

Time slowed as El and Markus tumbled in a locked embrace over the balustrade. A gloved hand grasped onto a baluster, and they hung motionless for what seemed like long minutes, El dangling from Markus’ waist with one arm, while the other still clung to the hilt of the sword of light. The Dark Lady’s minion brought the pommel of his own weapon down hard into the Luminary’s left shoulder. El lost his grip, and dropped sixty feet to the marble below.

Hendrik bellowed his rage and horror. His one duty— _one!—_ was to be the sworn shield of the Luminary! He rushed to the edge of the platform and peered down. El lay motionless at the feet of Veronica and Oskar. Rab and Jade tore down the third floor stairs as Sylvando ran into the second floor stairwell, all three headed toward their fallen comrade. Oskar dropped to his knees and ripped off his gloves, then felt for a pulse.

“OSKAR!” Hendrik shouted, his voice carrying over the maddening cacophony.

The guardsman looked up. “HE LIVES!” he shouted back. “ONLY JUST!”

 _Thank Yggdrasil._ Rab and Sylvando were on their way with healing magic. El would survive, even if he might not be able to fight right away. Hendrik’s attention was caught by Markus swinging himself to the right and dropping twenty feet onto the third floor half-span. He landed with a grunt of pain, but got to his feet and ran off, climbing over fallen shelves to disappear out of view. Hendrik debated—did he go after the man? Protect the Luminary from future threat while taking vengeance?

Why? To avoid what he knew must happen now? The ritual had not ceased. Somehow, without any of the others still chanting, the sound of myriad voices filled the space. And _she_ still hovered beneath the skylight, ragged wings outstretched, arms uplifted. Her voice dominated all of them, simultaneously binding all together and running through the center. Above her, beyond the window, a faint, orange glow had appeared, like a cloud of dust swirling through the air, gaining form. If he did not stop the ritual, did not stop _her_ , surely Calasmos would manifest, and all would be lost. There was no more time to hesitate, to pursue Markus, to wait for the Luminary. He had to bring this to an end himself.

_You, then, will become the only one who can save Erdrea._

Dear Yggdrasil, why did her words have to come to pass? He strode into the middle of the platform, great sword in hand. “Beatrice!” he shouted. “Beatrice, can you hear me?” She did not respond, did not move, save for the tiniest twitch of her tail. That might only have been an involuntary motion tied to her enmeshment in the chanting. He had only one other option for getting her attention—he just hoped it worked. Offensive magic was not his idiom.

He held his sword before him and closed his eyes, envisioning the formation of ice all around him, and thus did it manifest—he could feel the cold of it even before he saw it. With a grunt, he thrust his sword skyward, shattering the frozen crystals and sending them hurtling at Beatrice, a thousand icy knives. They struck, and the monstrous creature cried out as tears opened in her flesh, spraying blood like fine drizzle through the air.

The entire building echoed her exclamation, the greatest tremor yet seizing the room, sending books flying, shelves tumbling, and Hendrik careening, barely able to hold his feet. Cracks appeared in the dome, and small chunks of painted plaster showered down through the cylindrical space. The knight held an arm over his face against the debris, gripping his brilliant blade in his other hand, poised to defend.

Beatrice, or what now passed for her, dropped onto the platform, her great wings beating to slow her descent, her tail extended for balance. Hendrik’s heart broke at the sight of her lavender skin stretched taut over a supernatural musculature, the pointed ears that protruded through her red-brown curls beneath the cruel horns, the dark fur on her forearms. Her green gown hung tattered beneath her knees where the spikes in her furred forelegs had shredded it. Memories of Jasper’s unhinged ghost came unbidden, a shadowy foretelling of this horrific encounter.

Just as with that battle at Heliodor Castle, Hendrik mentally prepared himself to kill the person he most loved.

Beatrice

_Ancient voices rant on in conversation, as octaves stare scorn to raven converts; renovations to revocations in reactions contain victor’s actions._ The chanting went on, seven voices, seven distinct couplets from seven different books intertwined, channeling darkness through the conduit of the library’s center toward the place where the new moon would soon hover directly overhead. While Beatrice’s voice still spoke and her body still hovered, a part of her mind moved freely among the tendrils, in communion with he who was not yet manifest.

_One by one they have all fallen away. I alone remain._

_YOU ARE ALL THAT IS NEEDED NOW. THEIRS WAS TO OPEN THE RIFT. BLOOD HAS BEEN SPILLED AT EVERY POINT. SO LONG AS YOU FINISH THE RITUAL, THEY ALL FINISH WITH YOU._

He _is here. Yggdrasil’s chosen._

_HE IS TOO LATE. SING, BEATRICE OF DUNDRASIL. SING ME TO LIFE._

“Beatrice! Beatrice, can you hear me?”

Her tail twitched. Hend—

_DO NOT FALTER._

She took up the chant again, exulting in the sheer power coursing through her new body, the convergence of dark magic in the locus of her mind, the—

Shards of ice tore across her skin, drawing blood from arms, legs, wings. She screamed her pain, her clawed fists clenched in rage.

_DO NOT FALTER._

_I shall end him. He shall nae thwart you._

While her mind still upheld the ritual, the dark power of her raw intellect weaving together disembodied voices in a complex spell, her body descended to the platform and lit facing her attacker.

“What do you want of me, Hendrik of Dundrasil?”

He held his weapon loosely, and she saw weakness in him. “Stop this madness,” he said. “I know you can.”

An arch smile crossed her features. “I suppose you imagine you are vindicated now. You warned me at the start I would be seduced by the power of the dark books.”

“It gives me no pleasure. I had come to believe you would prevail.”

“And so I have,” she said, stretching her membranous wings behind her. “I have freed myself from the world’s limitations, from Yggdrasil’s oppression.”

Hendrik scowled. “You are not free,” he said. “You are delusional. Beatrice, please. You must still be in there somewhere. The real you.”

“Foolish man,” she spat. “This _is_ who I am. Who I have always been. You were only too blind to see it.”

“Then I am sorry,” he said, his shoulders sagging, “but I made the woman I love a promise. I promised her I would not let her serve darkness.” His body went taut, hands gripping the hilt of his massive blade. “And I will keep my word!” He lunged at her, the shining sword singing through the air. It caught her across the middle as she leapt backward, showering blood across the platform, and she screamed, her voice containing every voice still chanting the ritual, echoing through the chamber in a deafening wave.

Hendrik teetered, buffeted by the sound, and she flew at him, spewing pitch-black flames from her lips. He grunted as the searing darkness connected, but pushed forward in spite of it, readying for another strike. As soon as her breath ran out, he brought his weapon down with unbridled strength, slashing across her shoulder and chest. She instantly countered with a series of brutal blows with her clawed fists and feet, pushing him back toward the edge of the platform. He ducked under her lashing tail and whirled about to send his blade upward into her wing. With another shriek, she lifted into the air, wheeled, and came crashing down, knocking him to his knees.

Before he could regain his feet, she attacked again with her fists, laying him flat. She reached up, manifesting a spear of pure darkness, and brought it down to finish him, but he rolled to one side and leapt up, spinning and slashing into her back below her wings. She jumped skyward again, but he grabbed her tail and yanked, and she crashed to the platform, fury coursing through her.

_BEATRICE. END THIS!_

“Beatrice, end this.” Hendrik stood over her, sword poised. “Come back to the light.”

She spat black flames at him again and he cried out, falling away as she leapt back into the air. “Light is nothing!” she shouted. “The light needs the darkness! But the dark exists without illumination!”

_Beatrice. ‘Tis falsehood all. Thou knowest why. Find the true key!_

What? Why had Morcant’s words suddenly jumped to mind? What was falsehood? She hovered above the platform, trembling.

_SING, BEATRICE!_

Darkness ruled all because it did not need light. That was Calasmos’ truth. The source of his power, of hers. How could it be false?

_Thou knowest why._

She grasped the hair at the base of her horns, as if by so doing so she could grasp whatever she was missing, whatever…falsehood…

_BEATRICE! END THIS!_

She wanted to. Wanted to keep this power. But she could not keep back her own mind’s insatiable desire for knowledge of the truth. Morcant said all was false and she knew why. Did she? _Find the true key!_ The Luminary’s key. From the Book of Yggdrasil. _The light of life shines in hatred’s darkness…_ A thrill of comprehension ran through her. _The light of life…_

Suddenly, all the voices in the chant, the powerful cord of darkness that flowed upward from the depths of Erdrea, began snaking around Beatrice’s mind, calling her back to the ritual, dragging at her, demanding compliance. She fought against them, struggling to follow the thread…the thread that led to truth.

_MORCANT BETRAYS US. DO NOT LISTEN._

Life _is_ light. If Calasmos lives…

_DO NOT LISTEN!_

“Then the dark does _not_ exist without illumination,” she said aloud. “’Tis falsehood, all.”

At once, Calasmos’ hold on her was broken. The voices around her escalated into shrieks, all semblance of order within the ritual collapsed, words attacking her like vicious raptors, tearing at her mind. Visions exploded behind her eyes, colors, shadows, the library crumbling to pieces around her and within her. She cried out in agony, her body convulsing along with her consciousness.

_YOU WILL COMPLETE THE RITUAL. YOU WILL TAKE YOUR PLACE AT MY SIDE._

“No!” she screamed. “It ends now!” She felt as though lightning was surging through her, scorching her from the inside out. Her wings and tail disintegrated and she plummeted, crashing to the marble with a wail of anguish. She clutched at her head as the horrific cacophony battered her, clawed at her, tried to drag her back into compliance. She would not go. Would not succumb. She _did_ have a choice—all was not predetermined! She knew it was killing her, this resistance, but this was her call—to thwart the Dark One, as Yggdrasil intended. No matter the cost.

A small smile crossed her face as, mercifully, consciousness left her.


	52. Chapter 52

Hendrik

The chanting ceased. Grief, fear, and relief in equal measure enveloped Hendrik as a palpable weight lifted from his body and mind. He crossed the patterned marble to where Beatrice lay in a widening pool of blood—blood he had drawn. Dropping to his knees, he felt for a pulse. There it was. Weak, feathery, but there. He cradled her in his arms, praying Yggdrasil’s power to heal her. She shuddered as wounds closed and bruises vanished, but did not wake. He had not expected her to right away, considering every other experience she’d had with those damned books. The question was, after all of this…would she ever?

The library gave another powerful shudder, still more cracks appearing in the walls. Hendrik looked up to see that the luminescent dust formation above the skylight still swirled. Calasmos not yet manifest, but somehow still existing.

“Hendrik.” Serena touched his shoulder and he stood, holding Beatrice.

“Somehow, she has stopped the ritual,” he said. “But I fear this is not yet at an end.” The building rumbled again and Hendrik struggled to keep his feet. “Quickly. Across the bridge.” They reached Lars just as El and the others ascended the last flight of stairs.

Hendrik dropped to one knee in front of the Luminary, his head bowed. “Thank Yggdrasil you are alive. Forgive my negligence of my vow.”

El put a hand on his shoulder. “Get up, Hendrik. I have no idea what you’ve been through in the past couple of weeks, but don’t pile guilt on top of the rest of it. I’m fine.” The Luminary’s generosity knew no bounds. Once Hendrik would have said it was youthful naivety, and perhaps it had been. But no longer. El was far older than his seventeen years, and his quiet strength lay in his utter commitment to Yggdrasil’s call, and to those he loved. Hendrik stood and El looked at the woman in his arms. “Beatrice of Dundrasil?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hendrik replied. “I am afraid she—” Another rumble shook the library.

Veronica said, “Shouldn’t we get the fuck out of here before the whole fucking place crumbles?

“Calasmos had begun to manifest. He still hovers overhead.” Hendrik nodded toward the skylight.

“We need to perform the counter-ritual,” Jade said. “As Beatrice described in her note.”

Hendrik sighed, relieved. “Isabella. She found you.”

“We found her,” Lars said. “Sesqui took her back to Dundrasil.”

Looking around, Hendrik asked, “Where is Erik?”

“We’re not sure,” El said. “He hasn’t made it in yet.” Hendrik could see the tension in El’s body, and was filled with sympathy.

“I am sure he will join us at any moment,” the knight said.

“Okay, darlings, let’s get this party started before—” Sylvando’s words were drowned out by a piercing shriek that echoed painfully through the room. As one they covered their ears and bent forward. Hendrik, with his arms full, felt the full impact of the auditory assault and fell to his knees, curling his body protectively over Beatrice’s head.

“What the fuck?” Veronica ran to the center platform, El and the others following.

“Lars,” said Hendrik, laying Beatrice gently on the floor, “stay here.” The boy nodded, his ice-blue eyes solemn, and dropped to the marble, cross-legged, taking Beatrice’s hand in his. The knight touched his shoulder. “My thanks,” he said, then strode after El.

A second shriek rent the air and set the building to shaking again. Hendrik pressed his palms over his ears and looked down over the side of the bridge. Something below was moving, pulsing, growing. Pale and gelatinous, like a milky slime, it expanded—upward but not out, taking on more and more of a distinct form as it grew. He jogged across the span as the thing reached the level of the platform and rose above it, then stopped. Before his eyes, it hardened and changed color, losing its almost translucent paleness in favor of quickly darkening shades of black, gold and green. Protrusions from the previously shapeless object had transformed into six jointed legs, twenty feet long, the bottom four of which grasped onto the central column. Shiny, layered armor covered a long, oval body two stories high. Above the spiked shoulders was a round, fleshy face, completely at odds with the otherwise insect-like creature now before them. In its three-clawed hand, it held an object, which it tossed onto the platform at their feet.

Hendrik looked down, horror surging through him. It was the Dark Lady’s body, or rather a hard, semi-transparent shell in the shape of her, split open down the center, like the shed pupa of a newly adult beetle. _Insects_ , he thought, shuddering. _Why did it have to be insects?_ “This creature is the Dark Lady,” he said. “Her true form.”

“She looks a lot like Calasmos!” Rab said, brandishing his claws.

“Two peas in a fucking pod!” Veronica summoned a fireball between her hands.

El drew the sword of light. “Serena, Veronica, Rab, spread out around the top floor. Come in hard with spells from behind.” The three of them ran. “Oskar, Sylvando, and Jade, head to the second floor, the central walkway. Attack her lower quarters. Take the stairs by Lars.” He activated the top switch, opening the way down for them and they sprinted over the span. “Hendrik, with me.”

At the switch’s activation, the second floor bridge and stairs rotated, knocking into the Dark Lady’s midsection, and dragging her body clockwise a quarter turn around the building. “LUMINARY!” screeched the giant beetle-woman, her clawed legs scrabbling against the column. “YOU MURDERED MY LORD! NOW YOU SHALL TASTE MY WRATH!” Even before she had fully regained her purchase, she flung one claw outward and released a murky mist from a gland at its center onto Serena, Veronica, and Rab.

Hendrik struck into her armored chest with his brilliant blade, drawing a screech and a spate of yellow-green fluid from her. She responded with a burst of black flame from her fleshy lips, scorching them both. Beside him, El growled in pain, then raised his arm and flung it forward and down, summoning a giant, luminous blade from above to stab into her. She screamed again.

“ _Kaboomle!_ ” Veronica shouted, and the back of the giant insect woman erupted in flame. But why hadn’t Rab or Serena cast a spell? Hendrik glanced over to see Rab contemplating the painted shapes in the dome overhead. On the other side of the Dark Lady, Serena appeared to be counting the fingers on her left hand.

“They have been confused,” he said to El, who nodded, determination in the set of his jaw, focus in his wide, blue eyes.

“They’ll snap out of it in a minute. The others must have reached the second floor by—” The Dark Lady screeched again, and a ghost of a smile flitted across El’s lips. “…now,” he finished.

Hendrik brought his attention back to their foe, ready to serve as the Luminary’s sworn shield and companion once again.

Markus

How? How had this happened? Three years he had been with the Dark Lady in that fortress. Then Calasmos had reunited with his body, and gone to regain his strength, and before he could ascend as the Dark Lady had promised, the fucking Luminary had laid him low. But not to worry, she had promised yet again, they would raise him, and Markus would still be their second. Then to be thwarted at every turn— _every turn_ —by that stuck-up, rectitudinous, ass-kissing _Hendrik!_ Markus shook with rage, huddled behind a fallen bookshelf, his mind racing as the sounds of earthquake, chanting and battle filled his ears.

And Beatrice…She had stolen his rightful place, even now wore his wings and tail, wielded his promised power! Yet he could not, no matter how passionately he hated her, how much he wanted her to hurt in every possible way, could not get her out of his head. The moment the Dark Lady had brought Beatrice under her protection, he’d become obsessed. It had eaten at him, kept him from sleep, driven him to mad fantasy. Damn it, he deserved to own her. She was his right!

Now everything was falling apart, quite literally. Hendrik had murdered the Dark Lady, was now battling Beatrice—so blindly did he follow the fucking Luminary he would kill the woman he claimed to love. Everything in Markus was screaming at him to get his ass out of there and disappear forever. Elvan was probably already long gone, the bastard. But he had nothing left, all his ambitions destroyed, his master dead, his obsession unattainable one way or another. Let the building bury him. He welcomed a swift and decisive end.

The chanting suddenly stopped. Markus waited in the deafening silence. Was Beatrice dead? Had Hendrik succeeded in that, too? At length, he peeked out from his concealment to see Hendrik standing on the central platform conversing with some blond bimbo, with Beatrice lying unconscious in his arms. So she lived after all. _Fuck_ , he hated that he was relieved by that.

He ducked back as the sound of running feet heralded the arrival of the rest of their friends onto the third floor, then into the southeast stairwell upward. The building rumbled again. Maybe it would still come down and take them all out with him. That, at least, would be satisfying. Indistinct conversation echoed from directly above him. Then the shrieking began, and the Dark Lady rose into her true form, a smaller, less deadly version of her departed lover. _Hah. A little late now_. Markus had no illusions that she would be victorious. If the fall didn’t kill her, she should have skittered off like a cockroach when she had the chance.

He heard the Luminary shout battle commands, saw men and women run from the central platform, watched the spans shift when the top floor switch was engaged. Markus had spent long enough in this blasted library to know that meant that the northwest stair was now open. Oskar and two of the Luminary’s friends jogged past not three feet from him, and then down to the second floor. Three more of his friends had positioned themselves above and behind the Dark Lady. El and _that arsehole_ stood side by side in the center. Seconds later, everyone was engaged in battle, with fireballs and weapons and shrieking and all the rest of it filling the space with echoed sound. And where was Beatrice?

Markus clambered over the broken shelving, sliding on piles of fallen books and splintered wood. Steadying himself, he slunk along the wall into the stairwell. He crept up the split flight, pausing on the landing and peering around the corner. Lars sat just past the top, his back to the stairs, his blonde head turned away, watching the battle. He held Beatrice’s hand in his, the little snot-nosed sycophant. Markus loosed his knife and worked his way soundlessly upward. Kneeling on the top step, he grabbed the boy around the mouth with one hand, and drove his blade deep into Lars’ back with the other. When Lars went limp, Markus shoved the brat’s body to one side and grasped Beatrice under the arms, pulling her silently down the steps.

As soon as he was out of sight from above, he hoisted her to his shoulder and pulled a length of rope from his belt. With the top switch activated, there was no way to the bottom floor without having to pass the Luminary’s friends to get to the second floor switch. Instead, he would have to get to the north side and climb down beneath the half-span for cover. After that, it would be another drop to the bottom, where he could slip out the back door. On the other hand, if he were spotted at any point, he would have to sprint to the front door all the way across the lower level to avoid them cutting him off outside the building before he reached Memreth. His chances were slim, but if he could pull it off…then he could disappear until a new opportunity arose for him. Fuck the Dark Lady. He was better than all of this anyway.


	53. Chapter 53

Serena

_Three…four…five. Oh, how interesting! The exact same number as the last time I counted._ Serena giggled. _I have to try this again!_ She held out her hand in front of her, fingers splayed. _One…two…_ Reality hit her like a slap. Why on Erdrea was she counting her fingers? She scowled. Confusion, wrought by the insect woman’s mist!

 _Let’s see how she likes this._ Serena raised her arms and uttered, “ _Kaswooshle_ ,” sending a powerful vortex right into the horrible bug’s back, between her gaping elytra. Her wind spell hit simultaneously with a fierce ice attack from Rab, and the Dark Lady let loose another of her grating shrieks, filling the room with painfully echoing noise. Below, on the central walkway, Oskar, Jade, and Sylvando were striking out at the creature’s jointed legs, and being struck at in return. El and Hendrik fought like seasoned partners in the center, tag-teaming as though they could read one another’s minds. As Veronica let loose another fireball from a few yards to her right, Serena looked straight across the room to where Lars sat with Beatrice.

Lars lay slumped over to one side. Beatrice was gone. _No. It can’t be_. She ran along the circular walkway, heart hammering in her throat. “Lars!” she cried. “Lars! Can you hear me?”

From below, Oskar shouted up, “Serena! What is it!” Peripherally, she saw him run for the stairs.

“Oh! Oh, no!” Lars lay in a pool of blood, his face ashen. “No!” Serena dropped to her knees. Dear Yggdrasil, was she too late? The wound in his back…surely it was mortal! Refusing to even look for a pulse, she pushed him over, laid her hands on his chest, and threw her head back, crying out a prayer to the goddess to save this child.

Armored feet clanked up the steps. “Lars! No!” Oskar pelted to the top and placed his hands over Serena’s. At his touch, warmth suffused her, and as Yggdrasil’s holy power surged through her body, it was as though his hands somehow focused and concentrated it. It gathered in the center of her chest, grew, and exploded down into Lars.

The boy twitched and shuddered, then gasped air and coughed blood. Serena cried out in joy, tears filling her indigo eyes. She whispered a second healing spell into him, and he groaned, then relaxed into peaceful sleep.

“You did it,” Oskar breathed. “Thank you.” He looked around. “Beatrice!”

“Markus must still be in the building,” Serena said. “It’s the only explanation.”

“Dear Yggdrasil!” Oskar sprang to his feet searching the lower floors from the rail. “There!” he shouted, pointing.

On the central platform, Hendrik turned, distracted by Oskar’s cry. “What is—” He, too, saw Markus, with Beatrice over his shoulder, lighting on the bottom floor and running for the front entrance. “El! Markus has taken Beatrice!” he cried, his voice rising in pitch.

“Go after her!” El yelled. “You are released from your vow! Go!”

Hendrik tore across the bridge, sheathing his brilliant blade. “STOP HIM!” he bellowed to Jade and Sylvando. They ran for the southeast stair only to find it sealed off. They’d only been in the library once before! Serena couldn’t remember which switch did what; how could they?”

“The switch is in the north alcove!” Oskar shouted. “But wait until Hendrik gets down there or you’ll cut him off!” Hendrik swore roundly as he appeared on the third floor and half dove down the central stair. “NOW!”

El cried out in pain and Serena leapt to her feet. “Oskar, stay with Lars,” she said. “I need to help El!”

He swung around to face her and nodded. Without thought, she crossed the space between them and kissed him, hard, before turning and running around the walkway toward the Dark Lady, casting a mighty tornadic wind as she went.

El

This so-called Dark Lady was no Calasmos, yet no matter how hard they hit her, she would not go down. Now Oskar and Hendrik were out of the battle, Jade and Sylvando distracted, and the whole place seemed to be coming apart around him. They needed to get this thing taken out _now_ so they could perform the ritual before they literally couldn’t anymore!

He swung the sword of light, enhanced with _bright splitter_ , and connected with her clawed arm as it crashed down, shattering the chitinous armor and biting deep into the flesh beneath. She screeched and yanked her arm back, nearly pulling El’s sword out of his hand. As it slid free, a spray of yellowish fluid splattered him. _Ugh._ Veronica, Rab, and Serena launched a three-pronged spell attack—fire, ice, and wind—drawing the Dark Lady’s attention away from him for a moment. He glanced upward to see the swirl of orange luminescence above the skylight, recognizing it on a gut level from the dark tockle he now knew had been Calasmos’ spirit. What would happen if they didn’t complete the ritual? Would he go somewhere to lie in wait as he had for a thousand years after Erdwin? El would not let that happen!

All three of the spell-casters suddenly howled in pain, and El readied _quadraslash_ again. But before he could execute, the Dark Lady opened a claw into his face and spewed out mist. Instantly, El’s body froze—refused to move at all! He stood paralyzed, panic surging through him. Alone on the center platform, there was no one to defend him should she come in for another attack. _Shit shit shit!_ He should have called Rab back from the walkway after Hendrik left. _Stupid, El! Careless and stupid!_

In front of him, the giant beetle raised her forearms over her head and began summoning a fireball between them. She shuddered and let out a short shriek as someone below must have landed an attack, but she did not break concentration, and the fireball grew. And grew. _Dear Yggdrasil!_ El was well and truly screwed if she managed to land that directly on him. His powerlessness clawed at him. He couldn’t even shout for help!

A great crash sounded from overhead, and a shower of glass shards preceded Indignus through the shattered skylight. On his shoulders stood Erik, his twin boomerangs poised, a pair of faint after-images hovering in the air around him. He let loose the weapons and a blur of hurling projectiles savaged the Dark Lady’s head and shoulders as the giant fell. In a split second the boomerangs were back to hand, and Erik leapt from Indignus’ shoulders and sent them out a second time, six more brutal blows to the insect’s body. The thief caught his weapons just as the giant landed on the center platform.

El’s short-lived paralysis wore off amidst the Dark Lady’s piercing shrieks, as showers of yellow fluid erupted from her, and one of her elytra cracked off and fell. Assured, now, that her demise was imminent, he raised his left arm skyward, and the sigil on the back of his hand blazed with light. Up above the swirling form of not-yet-Calasmos, the sigil appeared against the clouds, and a bolt of holy lightning arced down from above and straight through the Dark Lady’s body.

She exploded in a hail of chitinous shards and yellow-green goo, showering everyone with putrid slime. Veronica shrieked in horror, and from below Sylvando cried, “Oh, honey! What _is_ that smell?”

A moment later, the debris had settled, and Erik hopped off Indignus’ shoulders, a shit-eating grin on his beautiful face. “Sorry I was late,” he said.

El laughed. “The entrance was worth it.”

The library shuddered and Erik pitched forward, knocking El to the floor.

“Quick!” El shouted, “We need to do this ritual _now!_ ”

Hendrik

Hendrik burst through the front door to see Markus running through the snow, Beatrice over his shoulder. The younger man could not keep up his pace, burdened as he was, and Hendrik tore after him. A high-pitched whistle pierced through the constant rumbling of the earth, and Memreth sailed into view, a dark silhouette against the fading aurora. _Shit!_ The knight surged forward, desperate to reach Markus before the dragon did.

Memreth lit unsteadily on the land bridge, one wing extended for balance—clearly he was wounded. Markus threw Beatrice over the beast’s neck and clambered into the saddle, then pulled the unconscious woman up and circled her with one arm. “Go!” Markus shouted, and the dragon crouched, then wobbled. “Damn it, Memreth! Fly!”

“Look, I got a fireball in the ass, a boomerang _through_ my damn wing, and I don’t know how many sword strikes to everywhere else! And it’s not like you’re weightless cargo!” He crouched again and took a hesitant leap into the air.

Hendrik raced onto the snow-covered arch and dove for the dragon’s tail as it lifted from the ground. He managed to get his arms around the appendage and dug his fingers into the thick fur.

“HEY!” Memreth shouted, pitching to one side and nearly crashing back down. His wings pounded, dragging Hendrik off the ground. He gained altitude, climbing unsteadily through the cold darkness. “Do something about our hitchhiker or I’m not gonna be able to keep this up!” he growled to Markus.

Hendrik hung on with all his strength as Memreth lashed his tail, trying desperately to dislodge the knight.

“I don’t want to drop Beatrice!” Markus said.

“We’re _all_ going down if you don’t get that damn paladin off my tail.”

Focusing his energy, Hendrik loosened one hand and slid it forward along the dragon’s fur, digging in again, and then loosened the other hand, inching toward the animal’s rump. Clouds rolled in across the sky, obscuring the pale aurora, lowering the light to almost nil—he could not see what Markus was doing, nor could he see the ground beneath him. Did he dare risk climbing further toward the dragon’s back? He did not want to do anything to cause the dragon to fall. Better to simply hang on in the hopes that Memreth would be forced to land. No matter what happened, he would not lose Beatrice again!


	54. Chapter 54

Beatrice

A gentle breeze lifted Beatrice’s curls, filling her nose with a clean, sweet scent. Sunshine filtered down through soaring branches to dapple the mossy path with pale light. All around her strange and beautiful flowers and mushrooms grew amidst climbing ivy vines, lush ferns, and the looping fronds of some unknown plant. Luminous birds drifted silently overhead among the branches, and from somewhere up ahead, a warm glow beckoned her.

She looked down as she walked, completely unafraid of her dizzying height above Erdrea. She thought she could see Dundrasil from where she was, the great river that was fed by the first forest waterfalls surrounding the castle plateau. _Home_ , her heart whispered, and a soft mixture of old grief and new hope wrapped her in its tendrils. The light grew stronger as she walked, emanating through an opening in the trunk up ahead. Noiselessly, she padded on the thick, mossy carpet through the fissure and into a circular grassy area thirty or forty feet in diameter. Walls of branches grew up and outward from what must be the center of the giant tree. In the middle of the field, a luminous sphere twice her height stood cradled in the ground and partially covered by curling vines, like a great faerie lantern. It was this object that had been calling to her, drawing her on.

_Welcome, Beatrice._

A woman’s voice, deep and tender, the way she remembered her mother’s to have been. At once, Beatrice was overcome with guilt and shame. “I almost failed you,” she said.

_You did not. You recognized the truth, in the end, and chose it._

“Was it really a choice? Or was this always what was to happen.” She couldn’t keep the accusation out of her tone.

_Nothing is predetermined._

“I should have destroyed those books the moment I found them,” she said, looking at the ground. “But I wanted to know. I had to. Because I could.”

_You are gifted, Beatrice. But you are human, and therefore prideful about your gift. That is why both Calasmos and Morcant chose you, pit you against yourself. But take some comfort in the fact that you could not have destroyed the books had you tried. They can only be unmade by magic, the same magic by which they were created._

Beatrice glanced around, suddenly confused. “Yggdrasil, why am I here? Have I died and my soul returned to you?”

_Your mind was nearly shattered when you resisted the ritual. I merely brought you here to rest until…_

“Until?” Beatrice swayed, her stomach jumping into her chest as if she were falling. The sickening motion ceased, then began again, and was followed by a high wind buffeting her face, tugging at her hair. “What’s happening?” she cried, grabbing at the vines around the luminous sphere to keep from toppling.

_I am with you._

The World Tree vanished, and Beatrice’s eyes flew open and saw nothing but darkness. The smell of labradrake fur filled her nostrils along with the rushing wind. Her body leaned back into someone’s chest, and his arm tightly circled her waist as the dragon pitched and rolled beneath them. Instinctively she knew it was Markus, and panic seized her, shooting fire into her arms and legs.

“Let go of me!” she cried, and struggled against him, trying to pry his fingers away from her side.

“Be still,” he hissed in her ear, “or we’re both going to fall.”

“I dinnae care! I’ll die before I’ll let you have me!”

“Beatrice?” Hendrik’s voice, from somewhere behind them. Just the sound of it, just knowing she was not abandoned to Markus’ whim, tamped down her franticness, cleared her mind ever so slightly.

“Hendrik! Where are you?”

The dragon pitched again. “On my damned tail!” Memreth growled. “I can’t keep this up. Lost too much blood to that fucking swordsman.”

“Keep flying!” Markus shouted. But the labradrake’s strength gave out, and it plummeted, sending Beatrice’s heart into her throat. It rallied for a moment, four mighty wing beats slowing their crazy descent, then crashed into a snowy hillside.

Beatrice was flung from Markus’ arms to roll through the deep drifts and smash into a rocky outcropping. Pain shot through her shoulder and she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to her bare feet, shivering terribly as she peered through the darkness for any sign of either Markus or Hendrik. The aurora’s pale light passed in and out behind the high clouds, providing just enough illumination for her to make out the silhouette of the dragon’s body some distance off, a subtle rising and falling showing that the beast still lived. She saw no other movement, and wanted to call out to Hendrik, but was terrified to attract Markus’ attention. As quietly as she could, she made her way back toward the labradrake.

She tripped on something hard and when she landed, it sliced into her ankle. Biting her tongue to keep from screaming, she rolled to one side and stuck the wound onto the frozen ground cover, while carefully feeling for whatever had hurt her. Her hand closed around a hard, jagged object about a foot long, razor sharp at its tip, and variously edged along its length. She guessed it was a piece of Memreth’s horn, splintered off in the crash, and worried she would step on others as she made her way back to him. But at least now she was armed. She tore a piece of her shredded dress and wrapped it around one end of the splinter before continuing toward the dragon and, she hoped, Hendrik.

Long moments passed with no sound but the whistling of the wind high in the nearby trees and the quiet crunch of her own aching feet in the snow. She reached the dragon’s snout and groped her way along it to its ears.

Cold steel pressed into her throat.

“Lying in wait like the coward you are,” Beatrice said bitterly.

“It’s called strategy,” he purred in her ear. “Stupidity is not courage, whatever Hendrik says.”

“Where is Hendrik? Is he alive?” She was afraid to hear the answer, but had to know.

“He’s seen better days,” Markus said, “but he lives. As soon as he wakes up he’s going to heal Memreth so you and I can fly out of here.”

“You might as well kill me,” she said. “I’llnae go with you.”

He buried his gloved hand in her hair and pulled her head back. “You don’t have a choice. Dark Lady or no, you’re mine now.” The roughness of his beard scratched her as he kissed her neck, then licked upward to her ear before releasing her with a chuckle.

Beatrice closed her eyes, praying for strength, summoning her rage. “I thought I made myself clear,” she said, slapping his sword away and turning to face him. With everything in her, she stabbed the bone fragment upward into Markus’ ribs, felt it slide into his body, and heard him grunt as his blood flowed out over her hand. “You will _never_ own me.”

His eyes, enormous, reflected the wan aurora, and she stared into them until his legs gave out under him and he collapsed to the ground with a final sigh.

Trembling uncontrollably with cold and spent rage, Beatrice stumbled two steps away and vomited into the snow. She knelt there some moments before dragging herself back to her feet. Grabbing onto the dragon’s fur, she pulled herself along toward his tail. “Hendrik!” she called out. “Hendrik!”

A groan rose from a few yards off, and she scrambled toward it to find Hendrik lying on his side, his arms bound behind him with a piece of the reins. Her frozen fingers struggled to loosen the knot in the leather. “Can you hear me?” she asked. “Hendrik?”

“Beatrice.” His voice, ragged with pain. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, then said, “Aye. Markus is dead. I killed him.” And suddenly she was weeping. The knot came free and Hendrik’s arms were instantly around her. She cried out at the pain in her shoulder, and a moment later, she heard him murmur a prayer, first healing her, and then himself.

“You’re freezing,” he said. “Dear Yggdrasil, I forgot—your shoes.”

“Dinnae remind me of those horrible, clawed feet,” she sobbed. His cloak landed across her shoulders and he crushed her in his arms again, lifting her out of the snow and cradling her into his chest as she shivered. “Memreth lives,” she said. “Do you think if you heal him he’ll take us back to the library?”

“I think we need to try or we’ll freeze to death out here before morning.”

“I’m awake,” the dragon grumbled, “and I hurt fucking everywhere. If I take you back can you guarantee my safety? Your friends are fucking brutal.”

Hendrik settled Beatrice into the saddle. The warmth of Memreth’s fur against her legs was heaven. “I will personally guarantee it,” Hendrik said, climbing on behind her. He leaned forward and placed his hands onto the dragon’s flanks in front of her knees, praying healing into the great body of the labradrake. The beast shuddered under his touch.

“Oh, hey, now… Now _that_ was something. Oh, wow. You should open a spa or something.” Memreth stretched his wings and flapped them experimentally. “I think you just cured my arthritis!” he said, flexing his knees. “Okay, hang on. Next stop, the Royal Library of Sniflheim.”

Beatrice clutched the pommel of the saddle and squeezed her eyes shut, prepared for takeoff. Hendrik’s arms wound tightly around her and she leaned into him, the feeling of his body against hers both strength and solace. Dear Yggdrasil. Was it possible? Could this truly be over?

_I am with you._

With a joyful whoop, the labradrake leapt into the air, powerful wing beats bearing them upward, then wheeled in a wide circle back toward the east.

El

The longer El chanted the ritual with his friends, the more still the earth beneath him became. As their voices intertwined—even reading those same books with the same bizarre words—the very air around him seemed to pulse with light. Overhead, through the glassless skylight, the luminescent mist that wasn’t quite Calasmos twisted as if it was writing in pain.

_DAMN YOU, LUMINARY! DAMN YOU TO THE HOTTEST HELL!_

El was pretty sure no one else heard the rageful cries of the Dark One, and for that he was glad. Unlike the energy of the dark ritual, which had sapped the very life out of El’s body and spirit, this ritual filled him, strengthened and uplifted him. Yet even so, Calasmos’ negative force clawed at him, threatening to undermine his concentration, his connection to the others, to light, to life. And this from a nebulous cluster of who-knew-what hovering overhead!

_I WILL NOT BE DESTROYED! THERE WILL BE ANOTHER LIKE BEATRICE TO FREE ME!_

_For Yggdrasil’s sake, Shut! Up!_ Four more couplets and he would be back to where he started. A tiny splatter of blood lay on the marble in front of him from when he had cut his palm. He had felt it in his gut when each of the others had done likewise, and, rather than a macabre celebration of pain, it became a celebration of life, of the fact of their dependence on Yggdrasil and interdependence with one another. He had shed blood with these friends countless times; they had defended, healed, protected, and fought for one another, and their love and commitment were beautiful.

Three more couplets. Two. One. _Remand ranked dame, name maker, end mad era;_ _Read unmarked rune, dare dream an amend: dark unmade!_

The book in El’s hand began to tremble. He watched, fascinated, as the written words on the page faded from black to grey to the color of the vellum, and then to luminous white, the brightness growing and growing until he had to shield his eyes with the back of his hand. And still the light grew, enveloping the entire volume in a ball of energy, then suddenly died away leaving nothing in El’s palm save a trace of ash.

Astonished cries from around the library and a cry of “Fuck yeah!” from Veronica told him everyone else had experienced the same thing. El looked up just in time to see the last vestiges of what might have been Calasmos dissipate under the pale corona of the new moon. It was over.

Rab crossed the bridge to the central platform and hugged his grandson. “What a daft couple of weeks it’s been, Lad,” he said, tugging at his luxurious moustache. “What say we go find Sir Hendrik and Beatrice and get ourselves home. I’m dying to hear how that Erik of yours managed to tame a giant.”

El rubbed an arm across his eyes, weariness suddenly dragging at his shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s.”


	55. Chapter 55

_ 3 weeks later _

Hendrik

The clatter of hooves in the drive heralded the arrival of Queen Frysabel’s—and Hendrik’s—eagerly awaited guests. Jade had sent word a week earlier that her old friend and confidante, she who was skilled at healing the mind and heart, had arrived in Heliodor and would gladly accompany the princess to see to the needs of not just Beatrice, but all of those impacted by the horrors of recent events. The boy whose family had been killed in front of him, and had then nearly lost the woman who had become almost a surrogate mother to him. The girl who’d been kidnapped into three years of slavery only to return home and find she had been orphaned. The powerful knight who had been rendered powerless and then tortured by a demented sociopath. The whole affair had left a swath of emotional devastation in its wake.

Hendrik was not as concerned for himself as for Beatrice. When they had first returned to Sniflheim she had been relieved, even joyful. But just in the past few days, she had begun avoiding him. And every time he saw her, he could tell she had been crying, though she pretended it was just fatigue and changed the subject. The total departure from her Drasilian directness had left him not a little worried about her mental state.

The horse-drawn carriage drew to a halt, and the door opened. Jade stepped lightly to the cobblestone and rushed to greet the Queen and Krystalinda each with a courtly kiss, then disarmed Hendrik by throwing her arms around him in a crushing hug. “Princess,” he said, “I am glad of your safe arrival.”

“It’s great to see you, too, Hendrik,” she grinned at him.

Another figure emerged from the carriage: a tall, willowy woman wrapped tightly in a fur-lined cloak, her long, sable hair streaked with grey and bound back in a Valorian comb. Hendrik took in the large, dark-grey and heavily-lashed eyes, high cheekbones, and narrow, slightly hooked nose over a broad, smiling mouth. His eyes widened, recognition slapping him in the face.

“Bettony!”

Her smile grew. “Ay, Hendrik! After all these years!” She held out a hand, and the knight crossed the space between them and lifted it to his lips.

Jade laughed. “Well what do you know? Turns out Hendrik isn’t such a boring stick-in-the-mud after all.”

Hendrik went bright red. “Ahem. Yes.” He turned narrowed eyes on the princess. “I can only assume you know of our past association,” he said.

“All I know is that she knows you. I’ve tried to get more details out of her,” Jade said, still grinning, “but Bettony doesn’t tell tales.”

“That is probably worse,” he said to Bettony. “I dread to think of what she will conjure in her imagination.”

The Valorian shrugged. “Let her imagine what she will. It’s none of her business.” She gave Jade a broad wink, and allowed Hendrik to lead her up the stairs.

“Just remember,” said Jade, still teasing, “it was Lord Robert who introduced me to Bettony, after his own ‘association’ with her.”

 _Dear Yggdrasil!_ He had shared a lover with Rab? That was something Hendrik did not want to imagine.

Bettony leveled a scolding glare at the princess. “Behave, Jade, or we’ll have to do some remedial work on your self control.”

Jade introduced Bettony to the queen and her advisor, and the five of them made their way into the castle. Frysabel played tour guide as they walked through the sumptuous hall, finally sending Bettony and Jade off with a servant to get them settled into their rooms. Hendrik watched them go, the warm surprise at seeing Bettony again after more than twenty years fading as his thoughts returned to Beatrice. He only hoped whatever the Valorian healer had to offer would help.

Beatrice

Nausea rose in Beatrice’s chest, and she ran for her chamber pot, gripping its sides as she heaved up what was left of breakfast. Or maybe last night’s dinner. Had she even eaten breakfast? She couldn’t remember. She sat back on her heels, rubbing her arm across her lips, and the tears came again, uncontrollable, sliding down her cheeks and chin to drip into the neckline of her blouse.

Someone knocked at the door.

 _Damn._ Shuddering, she replaced the lid on the ceramic basin and groped for a towel. She dragged it across her eyes, knowing it was a futile effort. She only hoped it wasn’t Hendrik—she couldn’t face him right now. “Come in,” she said, hanging the towel back on the peg.

A woman stood in the doorway, tall and stunning, somewhere in her fifties, by the grey in her hair and the crows feet around her eyes, both of which gave her a look of wisdom and maturity that only enhanced her beauty. She was dressed in jewel-toned linen, a sweeping tunic over broad-legged pants, with a dark, fringed scarf draped over her shoulders. “Beatrice of Dundrasil?” she asked, and her voice was rich and sultry, with a hint of a Valorian accent.

“Aye. You must be Princess Jade’s friend.”

“I am,” she said. “Bettony of Puerto Valor.”

Beatrice goggled, and then smiled her first genuine smile in days. “Not Hendrik’s Bettony?”

The woman inclined her head. “The same.”

“Ach, that’s fantastic! Has he seen you? I couldnae believe he’d not been in contact in all those years!” She remembered her manners. “Forgive me. Will you nae sit down?” She indicated a pair of stuffed chairs arranged around a low table. “I’m afraid I dinnae have anything to offer you to drink.”

“Think nothing of it,” Bettony said, seating herself. “And do not feel for a moment that you need to play hostess to me. That is Jade’s responsibility. Yours is only to be at ease.”

Beatrice sank down opposite her guest as the tears started again. Seconds later, she was sobbing and had to get up to retrieve a towel, lest she get snot all over her clothing. The episode passed, and she dabbed at her swollen eyes. “I dinnae think ease is going to be possible for a long time,” she said.

Bettony nodded. “Jade gave me a rough sketch of all that has happened to you over the past months. I will not give you false hope that you will feel back to your old self anytime soon. But if you are willing to work with me, I promise you can find some kind of peace.”

“Except there’s something else on top of all the rest of it,” Beatrice said, tears threatening again. She tried to force them back, cling to some kind of composure, but despite her best efforts, they slowly began tracking down her cheeks as she said, “I’m with child.”

Bettony remained expressionless. “Does Hendrik know?”

Beatrice shook her head, the tears coming harder. “I dinnae know how to tell him. I’m so…Bettony, I’m so frightened.”

Now the other woman’s face filled with emotion—sorrow, empathy, understanding. “I see. You can’t be certain it’s his,” she said, reaching across and taking Beatrice’s hand.

Beatrice could only nod, the sobs coming hard and fast. She buried her face in the towel and shook, then the nausea kicked in again and she ran back to the chamber pot, barely removing the lid in time. Bettony knelt beside her and pulled her hair back, holding it until Beatrice’s heaves subsided. She wrapped her arms around the younger woman and just held her for a moment, then helped her back to her feet and led her back to her chair. “I’m terrified that if I look at this child, I’ll see… _him_. I couldnae bear it. And how could Hendrik not hate such a child?”

“I can understand _your_ feelings, and you and I can work together to find some kind of resolution. But perhaps you ought to let Hendrik decide his own.” Bettony’s eyes held kindness.

“Aye, you’re right. It’s time he knew.”

Beatrice

Crews had already begun the work of restoring the Royal Library—again—following its near destruction three weeks prior. As Beatrice walked through the lower floor with Hendrik, taking stock of the damage to some of the volumes there, several of the workers called out greetings. Some of them were Beatrice’s library volunteers, others were men and women who had chosen to come help after Hendrik had led Dundrasil’s army to liberate them from the Dark Lady’s fortress. Queen Frysabel had called in the best architect in Heliodor to aid in the reconstruction. No doubt the library would quickly be returned to an even better state than before its original degradation in the days of Mordegon.

After their brief check-in, Beatrice and Hendrik mounted Obsidian and Buckram and walked back toward the palace at a leisurely pace. Beatrice breathed in the fresh, clean air of the Sniflheim mountains, finding that it calmed her stomach a little, even if her emotions were still right at the surface. After her conversation with Bettony, she had dragged her feet about talking to Hendrik, staying in her room another day before gathering the courage to even leave the palace, much less with him. They had ridden out with Lars, Sesqui, Isabella, and Javier, all four of whom were now engaged in the repair and renovation project. Heading back, they were alone together for the first time since Beatrice had realized she was pregnant.

He had not pushed her for an explanation for her bizarre behavior, even though it must seem a total rejection of him, and it comforted her. Clearly he was not insecure about their relationship, not overly dependent upon her to be or act a certain way. Surely he had shown up for her in every way over the past months. Surely she could trust completely that he loved her. _Shite!_ She was crying again. “Hendrik, stop,” she said, bringing Buckram to a halt.

Hendrik reined in Obsidian and sat quietly in the saddle, his aqua eyes soft and steady, a small frown on his lips as he took in her falling tears. Beatrice took a deep breath and sighed, willing aside the fear and the pain, and wiped her arm across her eyes. She reached out a hand and Hendrik took it in both of his. “What is it?” he asked.

“I didnae know how to tell you but… I’m with child.” She steeled herself for his response.

His eyes widened, his lopsided smile sliding slowly across his face. Then he frowned again. “I am sorry…do you see this as bad news?”

“I cannae be sure if…” The tears started again. “What if…what if it’s…if it’s nae…”

Hendrik relinquished her hand and swung down into the snow, reaching up for her, and drawing her from her saddle and into his arms. He kissed the top of her head and held her for long moments while she cried. Presently, she composed herself and pulled away, but he did not release her completely. He stared down into her eyes, as serious as she had ever seen him. “I do not care what this child looks like. If you desire it, I will look at him or her as my own and none other.”

The knot that had bound Beatrice’s chest for days suddenly loosened. “I…I think I desire it more than anything in all of Erdrea,” she said. “You…you’re sure?”

“Without a doubt.” He kissed her, slowly, searchingly, then pulled away and rested his forehead on hers. “My Beatrice,” he said, tenderness in his voice, “I love you.”

The tears started again, but this time they held only joy. “I love you, too.”


	56. Chapter 56

**_Epilogue_ **

Beatrice

Between the pain, the exhaustion, and the massive amount of endorphins flooding her body, Beatrice was half out of her mind when the Sarai, the midwife, said, “It’s a girl—wait.”

“Wait?” Hendrik asked. “What do you mean ‘wait?’ Is it _not_ a girl?”

“Dear Yggdrasil. Give me a minute.” Sarai cut the umbilical cord with a flick of her knife, turned the baby upside down and gave her a firm tap on the back. Immediately she began howling. Isabella handed Sarai a blanket and she and bundled the newborn up. “Hold her,” Sarai said to Hendrik, handing him the little girl.

“Hold—what? What is happ—”

“There’s another one,” Sarai said. “No wonder your little girl is so small, considering how enormous you were, Beatrice.”

“A-another…” he stammered.

Blood hammered in Beatrice’s ears. “Twins, Hendrik,” she breathed, staring up at the baby in his arms with joyful wonder. Then another contraction hit her hard and she screamed louder than the baby.

Sarai said, “Hold on, Beatrice. This one’s breach. I’m going to need to reach in and turn it around. Isabella, hold Beatrice’s shoulders and lean her back a bit. This isn’t going to be fun.”

“Reach…in…” The great hero of Heliodor blanched.

“You’d better sit down, Hendrik,” Isabella said. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“That is…ridiculous…” He sank down, the tiny bundle cradled in one arm. As he held her, the little girl ceased her outraged wailing, and Hendrik looked down at her rather than see what would happen next.

“Beatrice,” Sarai commanded, “hold your breath for me, okay? For a count of ten.” Beatrice managed a nod and did as she was told, clenching against the sudden pain and pressure and an unbelievable desire to push. “Hang on a couple more seconds! Two more. One. Okay, it’s clear. If you want to push, push now.”

It was the only thing in the entire universe Beatrice wanted at that moment. To get that child _out_ of her body _right. fucking. now._ With a cry of equal parts pain and triumph, she delivered a second baby into the waiting arms of Sarai, who shouted, “It’s a boy!”

Beatrice collapsed back onto the birthing bed, drenched in sweat, exhausted beyond comprehension, and suddenly deliriously happy. “A girl and a boy, Hendrik!” she said. “Aila _and_ Jasper!” Sarai cut the cord, massaged air into the little boy’s lungs, and set him on his mother’s chest, then retrieved the little girl from Hendrik and set her by her brother. Hendrik followed and knelt beside Beatrice. “Look at them! They’re so beautiful.” She gathered them into her arms, staring in wonder at the new life she had created. “Oh, Hendrik, look!” She pointed to little Aila’s wide, aquamarine eyes, already taking in the whole world, and the fine lavender fuzz on Jasper’s head. “There’s nae any doubt now,” she said, relief flooding through her along with all the other chemicals in her blood.

Hendrik kissed her, then did the same on the top of Aila’s and Jasper’s heads. “I could not be happier for anything in all of Erdrea,” he said.

“Aye, though I wouldnae turn down a stiff belt of Drasilian Rivergod right about now,” Beatrice replied.

The father of her children laughed. “I shall see what I can do.”

**_End_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Story Setting
> 
> Time:  
> The story begins about 6 months after the defeat of Calasmos. It is assumed that the entirety of game-play occurred over the period of one full year, therefore, El turned 17 right after the end of the game.
> 
> The Royal Library of Sniflheim:  
> A large portion of the story takes place here. In this time period, the library is being/has been restored, therefore every floor is fully accessible, which actually renders some of the switches unnecessary, however they all still function as they did in game with one exception. The switch in the Special Collection is a mechanism that lowers a shelf/door to seal off that room from the inside. Additionally, the first switch that activates all the others in game is a ‘reset button’ that shifts everything back to how it is when you first enter the building. I have spent a lot of time (too much?) with maps of the building to make sure that action scenes involving multiple floors actually make sense with the in-game mechanic. Also: due to the library restoration and cataloguing process, the bottom floor contains additional free-standing shelves, statuary, overstuffed chairs, and other items that make the space somewhat less open. Also also: There is a secret back door behind a bookshelf in the dead-end hallway on the northeast side of the bottom floor.
> 
> Liberties, Head-Canons, and Ships  
> As much as possible, I’ve tried to stay true to the game and its characters. However, in order to create a compelling story, I’ve had to take some liberties. Among them (and you’ll probably notice more) are:
> 
> 1\. Zoom is not a thing. It’s a game mechanic that makes this story untenable.
> 
> 2\. Zing and Ka-zing, not a thing. Dead is dead (or is it?). All healing spells, however, are real and instant. Also, no buffs and de-buffs. Straight up skills & abilities.
> 
> 3\. Drustan’s Trials in Act III (Post-game/True ending): While I will accept that these ridiculous exercises in grinding for level-ups actually happened, I am discarding any battles with the super-charged sentinels. Blind Fury and all the rest of them would be other monsters. A good chunk of this story involves the sentinels before they became sentinels (or didn’t actually become sentinels due to the Tower of Time storyline) and I don’t want any of the characters to recognize any of them. Besides, it makes no sense to me that when they fought Overweening Pride (Jasper) in the trials it wouldn’t have made Hendrik lose his shit. Just sayin’. So it didn’t happen exactly in that way.
> 
> 4\. Liberties taken with various monsters in various battles. As much as possible, I stuck with stats, abilities, attacks, and spells, but had to make some enemies tougher/more able so fights weren’t one-sided.
> 
> 5\. Erdrea is much MUCH bigger than in-game. It’s a six-day brisk ride via horse from Sniflheim to Dundrasil, for example. That being said, the Royal Library is no further from Sniflheim palace than it is in-game.  
> a. Corollary: The Dundrasil region map is similarly much MUCH larger in order to accommodate huge armies on a massive battlefield. The plateau on which the castle resides, however, is not colossal, but big enough for a horde of, say, 1,000 monsters to encamp on it around the castle.  
> b. Side note to the corollary: I combined various maps of the Dundrasil region with aerial views on Cetacea’s back and they DO NOT MATCH UP AT ALL! So I felt just fine taking extreme liberties with altitudes of cliffs, mountains, and plateaus, the size of the eastern field, access points from along the rivers, etc.  
> c. And another thing: Erdrea, while still mountainous, is a lot LESS mountainous/a lot MORE accessible than in-game. I’m treating it like it’s open world and allowing for a lot more level areas for people to get around.
> 
> 6\. My ships are my ships. Don’t like ‘em? Don’t read.  
> a. The underlying point of the story is for Hendrik to get over his tragic past and unrequited love for Jasper, and fall in love with someone who is not half his age. He’s bisexual, and a little more sexually evolved than depicted in game/canon (although that whole thing with the first edition Ogler’s Digest I accept).  
> b. Jade is bisexual, though she’s sort of had it with being problematically hypersexualized by men (like the game creators), so these days she’s far more interested in women.  
> c. Serena is straight and insanely innocent.  
> d. Veronica’s body is 12 so we’re not touching that shit.  
> e. Sylvando is a gay man, not trans as in the Japanese version.  
> f. Erik and El are a thing. Because it’s so fucking obvious—and adorable—I could cry.  
> g. Rab is…well…Rab.  
> h. Krystalinda and Frysabel are a thing, but it’s an open relationship. Also, Frysabel is bisexual and as attracted to El, Erik, etc. as to Krystalinda.


End file.
